


In all my Dreams I Drown

by ThoseSadisticTendencies



Series: 'Grace for Sale' series [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Blood Pacts, Book: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Cinnamon Roll Newt Scamander, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Sex, Graves' Family, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kind of Stockholm Syndrome, M/M, Magizoology (Harry Potter), Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mind Manipulation, Obsessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Original Percival Graves, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Violence, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2019-10-19 13:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 303,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17602589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoseSadisticTendencies/pseuds/ThoseSadisticTendencies
Summary: Sequel to 'Let the Monster Rise' in which Newt struggles along the road to recovery in the aftermath of Grindelwald's defeat with the help of friends, family and a very overprotective Auror. Full of angst, drama, smut, PTSD, fluff, humour and magical creatures. But be warned of majorly dark themes throughout. This is obviously an AU that won't make much sense if you haven't read the first instalment.





	1. 12

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vins/gifts), [letmefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmefly/gifts), [FriendlyCelery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCelery/gifts), [LuaKitsune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuaKitsune/gifts), [LongerThanTonight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LongerThanTonight/gifts).



" **This is gospel, for the fallen ones, locked away in permanent slumber, assembling their philosophies, from pieces of broken memories…This is the beat of my heart, this is the beat of my heart. The gnashing teeth and criminal tongues conspire against the odds, but they haven't seen the best of us yet.**

' **Cause these words are knives that often leave scars, the fear of falling apart and truth be told I never was yours, the fear, the fear of falling apart, this is the beat of my heart.**

**…led away by imperfect impostors." – 'This is Gospel' – Pan!c at the Disco**

It all trickled down.

Through the following days, through every awkward but decidedly welcome conversation, he had, through every positive thought or appreciated gesture… the pain ebbed throughout. It was a stream of emotion that bled through his attempts to disregard the memories – no matter how hard he tried to move past them, they kept on making their way through. Newt knew that everyone who visited him was aware of the strain he was under, of the visions and his unintentionally violent reactions to any sudden contact. He knew that in order to be able to move past the… difficulties he was experiencing, he would have to talk to his friends about what had happened.

They all tried to coax it out of him in various ways already – soft voices, leading questions, knowing glances and in the case of Theseus – direct requests to just 'get it off his chest', but he didn't want to vocalize the horrors. It felt like if he said them out loud, it would somehow make it more real – that he wouldn't be able to just move on without those around him being constantly reminded of what had been done to him.

He didn't want to be an eternal source of suffering, sympathy, awkwardness, and disgust for those close to him. And that was what he would become if he told them – about the torture, about the degrading words, about the blood-bond, about what Newt had  _done_. How he had failed to protect himself or anyone he cared about, how he had just made everything worse… how he had managed to apparently attract the infatuation of the darkest wizard alive. How that had led to Grindelwald killing his father – how could he ever tell Theseus about  _that_? How could he look him in the eye and tell him what Grindelwald had done in the name of garnering Newt's favour? What Newt had unwittingly done… it made him sick to his stomach.

 _Not even to think of what you're doing to poor Percival now, eh Newt?_  The man had been so astoundingly caring and patient with him for the entire week since Newt had awoken in ‘Caligari-Klinik’ and he knew that if he told him of the real reason why he reacted so… badly to Percival, then he would most likely distance himself from him. And Newt didn't want that. It certainly wasn't Percival's fault that Grindelwald had used his face to torment Newt and the young magizoologist didn't want Percival to go because of something that wasn't his fault.

Even with the difficulties that Newt's lingering doubts and fears presented for their interactions, he had found Percival's presence so nearby to be an indescribable comfort. He was always so patient with him, he wouldn't try to force any physical contact on him, he would always wait until Newt allowed him near when he awoke from the frequent nightmares and flashbacks that plagued him.

Any number of things seemed to be able to trigger the hallucinations – the wrong choice of words that sounded just a  _little_  too familiar, sudden physical contact, any magic performed or even the wrong smell. There had been an incident just the day before when Newt had been disturbed from his sleep by one of the nurses checking the wards around him, but unfortunately, she had happened to be wearing a perfume that smelt like Sandalwood and Juniper berries. He had panicked for an embarrassingly long time, managing to shatter several water pitchers and glasses on his bedside table with a wandless act of magic before Percival had managed to calm him down.

He had come over to where Newt had been hunched on the bed and softly, firmly consoled him, waiting until Newt's eyes were fixed upon him before reaching over to grasp Newt's bandaged hand, running a thumb across the edge of his own in a repetitive, soothing movement that had helped to ground him. He wasn't sure what it was about Percival that kept him so calm – even as the man's face sometimes triggered  _unpleasant_  memories that sent him into fits of shudders and left his mind reeling – there was still just something that made Newt feel better without fail.

There was a part of him that assumed it was because the constant reminder of his pain was something that likely wouldn't be present in a constructed fantasy. The careful, doting way that everyone else was treating him could have had him convinced that this was all just some delusion bred to make him feel better, but the jarring sensation of being both terrified and reassured by Percival's presence just seemed so ridiculous that it  _had_  to be real. Why on earth would his shattered mind cook up comfort that was tainted with such incongruity? The mess of emotions was just too perfectly confusing to  _not_  be his real life. The contradiction of comfort and confusion may be unsettling but at least it was something that felt real – something that could at least partially convince him that his nightmares were just that – nightmares instead of memories.

But that still led Newt back to his current conundrum. He remembered Albus' thoughts on the matter and knew that he had been right to advise him to talk about it – he had known it even before the older man had mentioned it. It was only a matter of who he had to drag into the darkness with him first. It wasn't fair that the suffering Grindelwald had inflicted upon should have to involve those he cared about - he didn't want them to suffer because of him, but Newt also knew that they were likely being affected by his silence and their own uncertainty. Leaving things up to the imagination was not always a wise tactic.

Theseus had made a few more brief appearances but his position at the Ministry kept calling him back to work on an irregular basis. He had flitted in and out as much as he was able but never seemed to stay long enough for him to satisfy his apparent need to wither Percival away with his glare alone. Newt had wondered on several occasions exactly what Theseus' problem with Percival was but never seemed to be able to vocalise his frustration.

During one of the last visits, Theseus had finally brought Newt's case with him into the ward with strict instructions for Newt to not attempt to overexert himself by trying to go about his usual care routines. However, one look at Newt's rebellious face had convinced his elder brother to promptly change his mind and leave once again with the case in hand. Newt had subsequently spent the next few hours in sullen silence, only occasionally breaking it by muttering about 'pompous, overprotective prats' under his breath.

Tina had only visited once in the time he had been awake, though apparently, she had visited on one other occasion earlier on in his treatment, in the time when he had mostly been sleeping. She had seemed as tired as the rest of his friends but had fussed over him excessively in the short time she had been there – attempting to straighten his pillows and repeatedly asking whether he needed her to call a nurse.

During her visit, she had busied herself explaining that she was now organising the Auror department in Percival's absence under Madam President Picquery's orders. Newt was glad that Tina was getting the recognition she deserved within MACUSA – especially after he temporary demotion – and congratulated her on her probationary promotion to 'Senior Secretary of Magical Law Enforcement'. For her part in securing Grindelwald, she had received commendations and whilst still being exhausted and overwhelmed by her new role, Tina had seemed to have risen to the role magnificently.

She had passed on apologies from Queenie, who she claimed was feeling too 'under the weather' to visit herself and Newt had conveyed his understanding and wishes for her to feel better soon. He had the feeling, however, that the real reason behind the Legilimens' absence was likely to do with the lingering shame he had sensed from her the last time they had seen each other. He got the feeling that Queenie must have told Tina of her actions regarding Abernathy and Grindelwald, as Tina's voice was perceptibly tense as she spoke of her.

Newt held no grudge against her of course – it was notoriously easy to be taken in by Grindelwald's silver tongue, he knew that better than anyone – except maybe Albus – and did not condemn her for being tempted by his promises to help her be with Jacob. Wanting to be with someone you cared about very much but being unable to do so because of societal opinions…. it was something that was beginning to be increasingly relatable to him.

Though the idea of liking men was becoming slowly easier to think to himself, it still made an uncomfortable sensation rise in his stomach when he thought of how the burgeoning acceptance had come to light. Grindelwald's taunting, disgustingly accurate words that he had spoken before haunted Newt's thoughts every time he started to consider Percival in the way he really wanted to. He had accepted that he found the older man undeniably attractive and felt more comfortable around him than he had with anyone else in as long as he could remember. And whilst he couldn't deny the fact that Percival's behaviour around him was affectionate, he wasn't sure if the man liked him in the same way.

Newt may be more perceptive than most –  _except Gellert_  - gave him credit for, but he was still incredibly inept when it came to discerning human behaviour in his personal life. He wasn't sure if Percival cared for him in any way more than friendship; he didn't want to risk upsetting or angering the Auror by confessing his affections only to be rejected. They had never brought up the subject of relationships or interests such as that in their correspondence, as it felt like such an inappropriate thing to discuss through the post, as well as not having known each other well enough at first to broach such topics.

He didn't even know if Percival liked men in that way – it didn't seem particularly likely for such a high ranking official as he to hold such preferences, but it was honestly difficult to tell. Besides, it wasn't like he could bring it up in casual conversation – the very idea of trying to voice his newfound feelings to Percival was terrifying. Just imagining trying to look into those bottomlessly warm brown eyes and telling him something so shameful and potentially disastrous… he couldn't, he just couldn't. Not yet certainly.

It was funny how almost all trains of thought seemed to lead him back to Percival as of late. Any time he tried to consider something that was too disturbing, for too long or in too much detail, his mind seemed to automatically steer itself back to the visions of Percival's deep brown eyes, the feel of his rough, work-worn hands on his cheeks and hands, his deep, smooth and calming voice… it just seemed to work every time. Percival had become his coping mechanism whilst at the same time being one of his triggers.  _Merlin's beard, it was all very perplexing._

They currently sat in companionable silence, Percival reading on top of the covers on the bed beside him and Newt playing with Pickett. The nurses had been unhappy about the presence of the Bowtruckle, but whatever Theseus had said to the stern nurse before seemed to have done the trick and none of them challenged him on it. Pickett was running along Newt's blanketed legs, weaving in and out of the miniature mountains his body made in the material and challenging Newt to catch him.

As easy a task as it may sound, his limited range of motion and the speed and agility of the little creature made for a surprisingly engaging exercise. Percival occasionally glanced up to watch in apparent amusement from his book – brought by one of the clinic staff – and huffed out short breaths of laughter at his companions' antics. Newt was just on the verge of catching finally Pick when he suddenly decided to leap up to hide himself in his hair, burrowing down between his coppery curls and chirping victoriously.

"That's cheating you know!" Newt sighed in begrudging amusement as a little green head poked down to blow a raspberry directly in front of his face, hanging upside-down before clambering back into his new perch.

"I think that's six to one now." Newt turned his amused gaze back over to Percival who had set down his book in his lap, still open but clearly more occupied by their games to really focus on it. He resisted the urge to stick out his tongue at the Auror and instead sent him a shrug and a goofy smile.

"It's not exactly fair to count when he keeps on cheating." Percival raised an eyebrow and a bemused smirk flitted across his lips.

"Now I could be wrong, but I don't recall any rules being set in place, but then again, I don't really speak Bowtruckle."

Newt huffed out a good-humouredly exasperated chuckle. "I think it goes without saying that taking advantage of someone's invalided state counts as unsportsmanlike conduct." He illustrated his point by raising his bandaged arms as far as they could go – barely up to shoulder height before the ache in his chest, arms and upper body caused him to hiss slightly and lower them once more with a wince. He felt a stab of regret as Percival's rare and spine-melting smile flickered from his lips and Newt inwardly cursed himself for ruining the moment with a poor attempt at humour.

In an effort to regain the light, distractingly easy conversation he gestured to Percival's book and asked. "What are you reading?"

To his surprise, Percival's cheeks took on a very slight pink hue, accenting his sharp cheekbones and jawline in an unfairly flattering way. As distracting as the effect was, Newt forced himself to focus upon Percival's answer instead of the uncharacteristically soft sight of MACUSA's Director of Magical security  _blushing_. "Uh… it's a book on… um, Austrian philosophies on magic."

"Oh, is it any good?" Newt asked, confused when Percival shifted slightly, closing the book in his lap and going slightly pinker.

"Yes, very interesting." He said a little too quickly and Newt raised a questioning brow at him.

"Would you mind if I took a look? I don't think Pickett wants to play at the moment and I'm a bit tired of counting the freckles on my arm." Percival looked hesitant until Newt offered him a soft smile – he wanted to have something else to talk about with him and the book might also provide some distraction from his ever-dogging thoughts. Something odd flashed across Percival's face and he almost reluctantly handed over the book.

Newt nodded his thanks and opened the book at the title page. He stared down at it for several seconds before speaking in a forcedly even tone, looking across at Percival with a very purposefully straight face. "I didn't know you could read German."

Percival flushed beet-red and took several long moments before he replied uncharacteristically sheepishly "I can't…"

"Then why were you-" Newt cut himself off as he realised that the man had been pretending to read the book for the better part of the morning, but every time he had looked over to the other man, he had caught him glancing away back to the book. Newt felt his own cheeks flush bright red as he comprehended that Percival had been using the book as a cover for watching him. He wasn't sure why the Auror would do such a thing but felt embarrassment colour his cheeks and prompt him to fix his gaze upon the book in his lap. It surprisingly enough didn't make him feel uncomfortable, in fact, the idea that Percival had been watching over him so attentively made that recently christened flame in his chest glow warmly again.

"I'm sorry, Newt, I didn't mean-" Percival's attempted apology was cut off with a snort of laughter from both Newt and Tina, who hovered in the doorway. How long she had been there, Newt could only guess, but looking at the expression of extreme amusement and almost Queenie-like mischievousness on her face, he guessed that she must have been there at least long enough to understand why Percival was apologising.

Her laugh was infectious and though it caused the lash mark scars on his sides to ache abysmally at the stretch on his skin and muscles, Newt allowed full-bodied laughs to leave him. He felt a bit bad at the slightly sour expression on Percival's face, but it soon softened as he watched Newt and soon seemed to relax, chuckling a bit himself, ruefully, though he did catch the mild glare he sent in Tina's direction. When the amusement died down, Newt found himself feeling lighter than he had in quite some time – it felt good to laugh again, even if he could still feel the ever-present tensions and horrors lying just beneath the surface, he found that they were easier to ignore when with his friends.  _You can't outrun them forever, Newt, you know you can't. Bottling it up will only make it that much worse._

"Sorry, it’s been a while," Tina said as she came over to sit in the chair beside Newt's bed, clunking down a large paper bag with distinctly foodish smells wafting from it, onto the bedside table. "Department's been in a constant state of near-panic what with all the Grindelwald supporters who are still raising as much bedlam as they possibly can in his absence – nothing we can't handle but it's getting pretty damn crazy out there."

Percival was nodding sternly, his professional side taking over as he addressed Tina who was taking off her coat and gloves. "Has Crowlins been reporting in on the Massachusetts front? He's a cagey bastard when it comes to any difficulties they're having over there – doesn't want to admit the strain he's under from the fundamentalist No-Maj groups that have cropped up over the past few years."

Tina offered a half-grimace "There's been an increase in wizard-on-No-Maj violence across the states and Crowlins isn't helping anything by trying to pretend that it just isn't happening. I've demanded proper reports on casualty statistics from an incident that occurred two days ago in which No-Majs were… tortured and killed by Grindelwald followers." She shot an uncomfortable look over at Newt at this but continued in a forcibly grave, even tone. "But he isn't very forthcoming with details. Any ideas, sir?"

"Crowlins is an old-fashioned sort, not likely to take a woman giving orders seriously – stubborn idiot that he is – but if you give send him something stamped with Picquery's seal he'll be more likely to pay attention," Percival spoke with his usual gruff, helpful bluntness and Tina frowned slightly but nodded in response. "Not even he's stupid enough to ignore our dear Madam President."

Both shared a knowing huff of bitter laughter that left Newt slightly amused in turn. Even his brief experience of meeting MACUSA's president had left him wary and he could certainly imagine why the members of the American Ministry would respect the formidable witch. The professional conversation between the two American Aurors continued for some time while Newt preoccupied himself with flicking absently through the book – reading the odd brief words and phrases that he could translate but more just tracing the outlines of the typed font with his tired eyes.

He must have drifted off into a light doze because he felt the book slowly slip from his lax, bandaged fingers and his eyes had slipped closed. His breathing deepened slowly as drowsiness overtook him – he had found that the wards present in the room kept him feeling sleepy a lot of the time – likely so that he could heal better with rest.

But he did not find peace in those slumbering moments. As following the forming pattern of the past week, Newt found himself back in Nurmengard castle. It wasn't the room in which he had been kept, the main hall or the dining room – instead it was a cold, bare, cell-like room that seemed to be buried deep within the bowels of the castle. The walls were the same familiar grey stone, but dampness had seeped into the rock down here and the mountain chill had intensified so that the breaths of the room's sole occupant puffed out in white clouds. Not that it seemed to bother him much.

Gellert Grindelwald was encased in a shimmering, almost invisible, likely impenetrable casement of spells, wards, and curses that clung to the man like a second skin. He was thoughtfully wrapped warmly in thick layers of dark clothing underneath the spells - likely so he didn't freeze to death. Newt had noticed this the last few times that he had forced into this reality, but it still left a slightly odd feeling stir in his stomach at the sight of the contradictory care that Albus had put into ensuring the dark wizard's well-being and imprisonment.

Newt knew why he was here – the blood-bond had drawn him in several times already during his sleep and he had grown begrudgingly used to the presence of Grindelwald in his sleep. It didn't happen every time mind you, but the change the cell gave him from the horrendous flashbacks was decidedly welcome. At least  _this_  Grindelwald was incapable of hurting him physically. The spells still left him with the ability to move about the cell, but any attempts to use magic, touch the walls or dismantle the wards were apparently met with highly debilitating consequences.

At least that was what Albus had reassured him when Newt had brought it up during his last visit. His mentor had apparently sensed it when Grindelwald began projecting the image of his current state into Newt's mind as he had received it himself. He had reassured Newt that there was nothing Grindelwald could do other than send him the ongoing image and, while it had still thoroughly unnerved Newt that the man could still do this even in his heavily bound state, he resigned himself to the idea that it would not stop simply because he worried about it.

Like the bond itself, Newt came to begrudgingly accept that it was out of his control; that there was no point worrying himself over the repetitive invasion of his sleep as it wasn't hurting him.

Grindelwald neither spoke nor moved much, apart from his eyes which followed Newt as he moved about the cell. The young magizoologist never went near Grindelwald - even though Albus had assured him that Newt's presence in the cell was purely intangible as it was a result of the mental bond, Newt still didn't relish the idea of being any closer to Grindelwald than he could help. Most of the time he spent there, he huddled in the furthest corner away from the dark wizard that he could, conserving what heat he could by occasionally pacing around before settling again. How he could still feel cold in a non-corporeal state newt would never know.

Grindelwald would watch him the entire time. Mismatched eyes tracking his every movement with apparent indifference but still with that familiar, unnerving intensity that only  _he_  seemed to be capable of.

It was another part of why Newt awoke feeling unrested and often very susceptible to being startled or confused by another's presence. Between the extremely active nightmares that were the fevered memories of what Grindelwald had already done and the sedentary intensity of what Grindelwald's eyes promised for his future - Newt had found very little rest to ease his strained mind. It was another reason why he found Percival's presence in the same room as him reassuring - such inescapable strength as what lay within Percival left him feeling bolstered as well as the warm compassion the other man treated him with.

He woke much easier than he had any of the previous times. There had been no thrashing, panic or hovering friends to cause him to be unsettled. He lay there for a few minutes, just listening to the continued steady stream of conversation going on nearby. Tina's and Percival's voices had been joined by another familiar tone and Newt let out a huff as he opened his eyes to address the newcomer.

"Hello, Theseus." The conversation stopped and the three Aurors turned in their seats to regard him with surprise. Percival was exactly where Newt had expected him to be, but Tina and Theseus had taken up seats beside one another on apparently conjured chairs that were faced away from him. The thing that struck Newt as odd was that he could have sworn that the sudden, jerky movement he had just witnessed had been the two of them moving their hands out of one another's grips.  _Okay, what now?_

"Newt! You're awake." Theseus's voice was suspiciously bright as he turned his chair purposefully around to face his younger brother and Newt raised an eyebrow, eyes skating awkwardly around the room before fixing back upon his sibling's forehead.

"Top marks for pointing out the obvious there, Scamander." Percival's smooth, amused tone cut through the awkward silence and the glare that Theseus turned upon him was blistering even by his standards. Newt was once again unsure of what was going on but did not feel awake enough yet to try to pick apart just what was going on between the three Aurors.

"Oh Newt, Queenie made you something!" Tina's voice was almost as suspiciously cheery as Theseus' had been and she promptly dropped the paper bag from before into his lap. He winced slightly as the oddly warm package landed a little too hard on his still-healing legs. Newt opened it gingerly and withdrew a crockpot which, when he opened it, containing some sort of hearty-looking stew. There were chunks of vegetable and meat floating in a rich gravy that under old circumstances would have been a welcome change from the bland soup and bread that the clinic had been serving. But seeing the food now, only caused nausea to curl violently in his stomach, he swallowed thickly, trying his very best to smile at Tina who was suddenly looking at him with concern.

Newt opened his mouth to thank her, but the words caught in his suddenly bitter-tasting throat and he closed his mouth again, face paling drastically as he shoved the lid back onto the container. He barely heard the worried words that were aimed his way as he shoved the covers off himself, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and not even managing to stand before his nausea overtook him. He threw up violently over the edge of the bed, sick splattering onto the cool tiled floor and heaving up bitter-tasting bile. The thought of the chunks of meat brought back memories of the 'meal' he had consumed under duress in Nurmengard.  _Not developed a taste for fresh meat yet, Newt?_   _Don't you fancy another taste of that scrumptious carnality? You didn't seem to mind it until Gellert put a face to it._

He shuddered violently and hurled again, clutching his shaking shoulders tightly and scrunching his eyes shut as tight as he could. All he could see behind his tightly shut eyelids was the flickering images of the meat being slowly fed to him forkful by forkful and the horrifying memories conflicting up against it of his father.

The striking familial resemblance to himself and Theseus haunting him – even though his father's features had been dulled and distorted by drink and age. Familiar sharp cheekbones, blue-green eyes, and imposing height. His hair had been a dirty blonde that had been what blurred his mother's copper tones into what now lay upon Newt's own head, but the familial link to himself and Theseus was still appallingly undeniable. The memories – both unhappy and contented swirled behind his eyes alongside the knowledge that he had  _eaten_  the man. He may have been selfish, drunk and abusive but it still revolted and horrified Newt to think of what had happened to him – both before and after his death.

Newt heaved again, nothing else coming up this time, but he couldn't seem to stop. Anytime he tried to divert his thoughts away from the disturbing images and realisations the lingering smell of cooked meat in the room would push him right back. He could feel firm hands on his shoulders, shaking him and he could hear muffled voices saying things that he couldn't understand through the roaring in his ears. The young magizoologist didn't want to open his eyes and see the familiar features that he knew would be facing him, even without understanding the words, he could still recognise Thee's voice.

It felt as though a dam had finally broken within him. All the feelings, thoughts and memories that he had been repressing in any way he could over the past week or so came roaring through him. Nausea kept him shuddering violently and bile still burned the back of his throat like fire. His chest and throat felt painfully constricted and he could feel his muscles beginning to jerk sporadically as some sort of seizure overtook him. The voices got louder around him, and he could feel himself being moved, his back hitting something soft but firm and his jolting limbs suddenly being held down. His panic mounted and he fought against both the spasms and whatever was restraining him with all he had.

He could feel a hand, a familiar, warm, rough hand gently stroking his hair away from his sweaty forehead. He focussed upon the feeling, trying to slow his breathing as best he could in order to match the regular pace of the pulse, he could feel thrumming in a wrist pressed against the side of his face. It was difficult, but Newt could slowly feel his body responding to his attempts, not focussing upon anything but the feel of that hand and the steady rhythm of the pulse just below it. There was still movement and noise going on all around him, he could still hear voices and footsteps but whatever had been holding him down had now left, the spasms that ran through his muscles and limbs having gradually subsided.

Newt wasn't sure long he lay there before the hand left his face but when it did, he whimpered slightly at the loss of his anchor. At the involuntary sound, he felt the touch return though now it was placed around his scarred hand instead, those warm, ticklishly hairy fingers twining between his own slack ones. He hesitated for a moment before squeezing them in a slightly tighter grip. The hand tensed for a moment before he felt a thumb run swiftly over his own. The familiarity of the gesture soothed Newt but also sent a jolt of surprise through him.

He opened his heavy feeling eyelids to blink blearily up at three very concerned looking faces that were peering down at him from either side. He blinked a few more times, brain feeling as though it was swimming through thick mud and voice not sounding much better when it garbled out of his mouth. "W-wha- h-appnd'?"

Even in his bleary state he recognised Theseus' signature look of barely repressed frustration and worry that he had seen so many times before. "You just had a heart attack, Newt."

"Oh… n-not 'nother one." His lips moved without his brain really registering the words they were speaking, he did feel a thrill of confusion shoot through the haziness however as Theseus' eyebrows creased in concern and he heard a feminine gasp from one side and a slightly muffled curse from the other. He wasn't entirely sure what everyone was so worried about, but he felt the need to reassure them anyway and offered a hazy, unfocused smile. "S'okay now though..."

"No, Newt! It bloody well isn't!" Theseus' voice was cutting, and Newt frowned fuzzily in confusion at the sudden severity. What was he so upset about? What had Newt done wrong? He heard a female voice admonish someone in hissed undertones and he glanced to his other side to see Tina glaring rather fiercely at his brother. What had Theseus done wrong? This was all very confusing. The becoming grasp of sleep suddenly seemed very welcoming and Newt went to close his eyes.

He heard voices fade slowly out of his attention as he sunk under. He fell through the mattress, through the floor below, through the ground and suddenly found himself back in the cell in Nurmengard. Even in here, in his sleeping state, Newt still felt indescribably hazy and he could only assume that it was because the feeling was in his mind rather than just his body. The dam was broken, and the monsters had been released. These were not quite the lovable kind, however. No, these were the sorts that insidiously wormed their way into the hairline fractures in his sanity and  _just kept pushing_. It seemed ridiculous in an odd, distant way, that such a small thing had set off the avalanche that was now pinning him down but, in all honesty, he was surprised that it hadn't happened sooner.

His dream-self stood in the middle of the cell as he always did when he first entered, breath coming out in dragon's breath puffs that made him miss Elina and Argon more than he had in some time. They wouldn't have understood his reactions to something as trivial as seeing ad smelling cooked meat. Though the Ironbellies preferred their meals raw and significantly more alive, they certainly wouldn't have turned their snouts up at such a thoughtful gesture as the one Queenie and Tina had made. He felt bad for causing his friends further discomfort – it seemed that all he could do in life was be a constant irritation to those around him. It was probably for the best that the only person he was capable of annoying in his dream-state was Gellert Grindelwald.

Speaking of his involuntary cellmate, Newt suddenly realised that the dark wizard was not in his usual place by the wall and was instead standing about a foot in front of him. The silent, curse-bound man was regarding him oddly. If Newt had to out a word to describe the expression, he would have called it concern – had it been from anyone else – as it was, he decided that for now, he would label it as an appraisal. He felt as though the mismatched silver and dark blue gaze was dissecting him – trying to pull him apart further by drawing the truth from him. Even without the man being able to speak, he could sense – in the same way he had with Albus before – that Grindelwald was asking him what had happened.

There was a more sensible, lucid part of Newt that told him very firmly to ignore the man and withdraw to his corner for as long as he was kept here. But that part seemed to be drowned and crushed out by the odd hazy feeling that had consumed him and he replied in a stilted, slightly slurring voice. "C-couldn't d-do it… j-just snapped… didn't m-mean to upset-t 'em like that…"

Grindelwald did not speak but he nodded, almost patiently and Newt got the feeling that although his broken, vague words hadn't explained anything, that the elder man had still comprehended his meaning. The bond had likely made sure of that.

And, as horrified as he was distantly, consciously was that he was talking to  _Gellert Grindelwald_  about his agony before his friends and family… there was a part of him that relaxed into the ease of this kind of emotional release. Grindelwald already knew everything that plagued Newt's damaged mind, heart, body, and soul – _had been the one to inflict most of it_ – but at the same time, it was an indescribable relief to be able to not have to speak the horrors aloud to have someone understand them. Grindelwald was incapable of touching him or speaking and in a way, that was the biggest comfort of all – the mere presence and sense of understanding that exuded from the man.

They stood before one another. One man battered, scarred, puffy-eyed and frail both inside and out. The other bound inescapably yet still standing proud, handsome and straight-faced.

Two men bound by different circumstances but still connected by a bond of suffering. As horrific and unhealthy as it was… Newt could feel the pressure on the cracks in his mind easing. If only a little. And, for the first time in over a week, Newt found rest in the confines of his sleeping mind.

**A/N - Just as a warning folks - this one may be lighter in terms of general mood, humour, and the torture/violence side, but the insanity, PTSD and other mental health issues will be considerably worse! I apologise in advance.**


	2. Chapter 2

**“I'll keep you safe, try hard to concentrate, hold out your hand, can you feel the weight of it? The whole world at your fingertips**

**Don't be, don't be afraid, our mistakes, they were bound to be made but I promise you I'll keep you safe**

**Your darkness will be rewritten, into a work of fiction, you'll see, as you pull on every ribbon, you'll find every secret it keeps.**

**The sound of the branches, breaking under your feet. The smell of the falling and burning of leaves. The bitterness of winter or the sweetness of spring. You are an artist, but your heart is your masterpiece and I'll keep it safe** **.” – ‘I’ll keep you safe’ – Sleeping at last**

All things considered, it could have been worse. Granted, it could have been a hell of a lot better too, but at least Newt was still alive.

The sudden, violent vomiting, the seizure and subsequent heart attack had left them all reeling. In retrospect, Percival should have seen the intense stress that Newt was under, there had been little tell-tale ticks that had increased the longer he was awake, but he had left them unmentioned. The flinches, the panicked blue eyes, heavy breathing and the seemingly reflexive hand curling around the sheets had become such a common occurrence that when he had seen them this time, he hadn’t given it much mind. If the pain that Newt must be feeling from his broken fingers and the odd mark didn’t prompt him to cease the behaviour, Percival very much doubted that anything he said would make a difference.

Newt had made it clear on several occasions that he wasn’t ready to talk about the horrors plaguing him – not yet at least – and Percival had respected his wishes and not pressed him on the matter. Of course, Theseus had not been quite so tactful and had wheedled and occasionally demanded that Newt talk to them, but it had been met with the same silence and rapid blinking that Percival had received. Tina had been much more tactful on the issue and avoided it, instead offering Newt care and kind words alongside feeding his apparent desire for information.

That being the case, Percival had little to no idea why seeing a pot of frankly delicious smelling stew could have set him off quite so badly. He would have thought that a thoughtful, homemade gesture from his friend would have been another step forward in Newt feeling comfortable enough to open up. Boy had he been wrong. He had lurched out of bed in an apparent attempt to get as far away from the food as he could. But then the vomiting had started, Theseus had been quickly upon him in a flurry of protective elder-brotherly concern that seemed to go unnoticed by Newt who instead went into violent fits of shuddering, his frail limbs jerking uncontrollably. It had been horrible to watch. Percival had not approached at first for fear of crowding Newt and making him panic further but had swung his legs over the bed to sit up, hunched shoulders tensed in concern.   

The clinic staff had rushed in at Tina’s frantic calls for help and had pinned the young man back down onto the bed, waving their wands in quick diagnostic spells and barking at each other in rapid German. One had cleared away the mess that covered the floor and sheets with a wave of her wand and efficiently asked the three Aurors to stay back whilst they dealt with the situation. Theseus had wrapped an arm around a teary-eyed Tina, and they had moved to stand back on the other side of Percival’s bed, watching on in obvious concern as the staff had begun to deliver sharp jolts of sparks to Newt’s chest with their wands.

Newt had not seemed to appreciate being pinned down however and had promptly made weak attempts to fight off the hands and charms that held him. Percival had often been awoken to the sounds of Newt whimpering and thrashing in his sleep and, as he had done several times before, he had stiffly climbed out of his bed and went to crouch by Newt’s side. He had placed his hand upon Newt’s sweaty, clammy forehead and softly stroked his thumb along the side of his face. It had seemed to be working too, as it often had during Newt’s nightmares - his vehement twitching lessened until it finally stopped altogether.

Percival had been about to leave Newt’s side, pushing himself slightly stiffly to his feet, feeling every eye in the room on him in astonishment, when Newt had suddenly whimpered, and his head had lolled to the side – as if unconsciously seeking Percival’s touch again. Almost as surprised as everyone else, he had halted his movements to stand and instead taken Newt’s hand in a less intimate gesture, but hopefully, one that was equally as comforting. Newt’s usually bright, sea-blue eyes had opened soon after and Percival’s heart had ached at the dull, hazy confusion that resided in them.

The perturbing thing had been that those lovely eyes had not focussed on Percival at all, instead skating around the room in a seemingly unseeing manner before focusing maybe a minute later. His voice had been as hazy and disconnected as his eyes when he had asked what had happened, they had all exchanged a worried look before Theseus had approached and told him. It didn’t seem a good sign that Newt was so disorientated or that they could hardly sift out his meaning from the broken words. 

_“Oh… n-not ‘nother one…S’okay now though...”_

The hazy, insensible words had prompted a harsh curse to slip from Percival’s lips at the idea that this had happened before. That this wasn’t the first time that the previously healthy young man had apparently suffered _multiple_ heart attacks – likely in the relatively short space of time since Grindelwald took him prisoner. And the fact that he seemed to be _alright_ with it? Percival, at first, couldn’t think of what the malicious bastard had done to cause such a thing but whatever it had been, Percival could not imagine that it had been in any way pleasant.

The memory of what he had seen in Paris – before Theseus and Tina had arrived, when he and his fellow Aurors had been scouting out the tent – suddenly flashed through Percival’s mind. It had been incredibly difficult to maintain his stoic, professional presence for the sake of propriety and practicality as he had seen glimpses of Newt trapped in a cage and spasming uncontrollably as currents of magical electricity were shot repeatedly through him. Grindelwald’s supports had been streaming through the tent flap through which Percival had watched and he had had to restrain his fury at the thought that these people were coming to watch the young magizoologist suffer like it was just another circus attraction.

The muzzle-muffled screams and Grindelwald’s smug face had been incredibly difficult to endure; he had had to use a massive amount of self-control to pull himself away from the crowd of people going through the tent-flap and back to where his junior Aurors had waited. Thinking of those shocks clued him in as to just what had likely caused this new instability in his favourite magizoologist and he had to grit his teeth hard to prevent himself verbally cursing the man into oblivion. All that would do now was likely frighten Newt further and he didn’t need that - not after he had drifted off into what seemed to be a relatively peaceful state of unconsciousness.            

During his waking hours, over the past week, Newt had repeatedly requested that the curtains remained open and they were now – the bright, paradoxically sunny winter sky outside casting rays of shining golden light to cast upon Newt’s haggard face as he slept. It illuminated the sharper angles and softer curves of his features that had been weathered and thinned by the recent trauma and starvation. The already skinny magizoologist looking decidedly unhealthy in the clear light of day – beautiful still, but sickly.    

Newt had seemed mostly calm for a while – playing, talking and even laughing with them, not seeming to really be paying much mind to the injuries or trauma they all sensed lying underneath. The Bowtruckle’s presence seemed to be helping him more than anything -Percival found himself wishing a little that Theseus had left Newt’s case with him so that the magizoologist could interact with his friends. The way that Newt spoke about them, both in-person and in his letters, gave Percival the distinct impression that the creatures were the younger man’s constant. Though he still understood why Theseus had taken them away – knowing that Newt would likely just overexert or injure himself trying to care for his friends. It was a simple case of the physical dangers outweighing those potential emotional benefits.   

He and Newt had engaged in long conversations – mostly talking about his creatures or discussing the news that Theseus and Tina brought during their visits. Sticking to safe topics. The conversations had been a little awkward, but each day, Newt had seemed to be getting along surprisingly – _suspiciously_ – well considering that he still refused to talk about what had transpired. Whenever anyone attempted to broach the subject of what had happened to Newt during his imprisonment he had either changed the topic in a very obvious attempt to avoid it, or he softly told whomever he was speaking to that he was tired and turned onto his side, facing away from them until they left or until sleep genuinely seemed to overtake him.

There had been the nightmares of course, but even Newt’s unconscious mutterings had been unhelpful in figuring out just what had happened – not that Percival had been actively listening of course but being mere feet from him made it difficult not to hear the mumbled ramblings. It had mainly been unintelligible, but Percival had picked out odd snippets including the words “sorry” and “why” several times – occasionally interspersed with familiar names. His own had been among them once or twice, as had Theseus’ and for some reason - Queenie’s, but Percival had yet to make any context or sense out of the mumbling. The first time that Newt had muttered his name, Percival had replied with Newt’s own name without realising that the man was asleep, it had woken him, and the resulting panic had resulted in several broken glasses and a disheartened Auror.             

By far what had stung the most about Newt’s apparent lack of trust in them – especially in him – had been the clear fear he was barely suppressing every time that Percival came near him. There was a delayed relief that followed and left Percival in turn relieved, but Newt’s initial reaction was always the same when he woke to see Percival nearby – fear.

The only reason that Percival could think of for the reaction was a lingering association that Newt could still be holding between seeing him and Grindelwald. The fact that the bastard had walked around, using his face to order the unjust executions of innocent people – including Newt – made Grave’s blood boil and left a bitter taste in his throat. While he couldn’t blame Newt for making the association, it still hurt more than he cared to admit that the man – even fleetingly - looked so terrified of him. He didn’t want to be part of the reason that Newt was struggling to recover.

There was just something about Newt that sparked up Percival’s most protective instincts. Being an Auror of nearly twenty years and Director of Magical Security for the past eight, Percival, of course, held an obligation to protect others, but this wasn’t that same need to see justice done. No, the instinct that he now felt for Newt was one bred of awe at the soft, innocent yet unbreakable air he emanated. There was a kind, caring and innocent-seeming exterior to him, but deeper down Percival knew there lay an infallible strength. He had recognised it from the moment he first saw him – appearing like a shining, ethereal saviour in a dusty blue coat and messy copper-haired scruffiness. A perfect contrast of boyish, dishevelled realness and a much stronger, more tangible, core that, whilst attracted darkness like a magnet, still managed to remain like a pillar of light.

There was no adequate way for Percival to properly describe what he saw in the younger man without sounding like a lovesick adolescent or one of the cheesy poets his mother held a partiality to, but whatever it was… he felt an indescribable need to protect him. If that meant that he should distance himself from him in order to let him recover… then that’s just what Percival would do. He had no right to enforce his presence upon Newt like this in the first place – his own protective instincts were no real excuse to hover over the traumatised man and inflict further suffering upon him with his presence. All they had really shared thus far was a few months’ worth of letters and a handful of awkward encounters that seemed to always include one or both being severely injured, captive or distressed.

The foundations for a stable relationship – friendship or otherwise – that was certainly not.

Percival had never been one for incredibly involved relationships with anyone – family, friend, romantic or otherwise and had spent most of the last twenty years building and developing his career. There had been a few dalliances with men and women he had met in local bars and a few rather unfortunately chosen frisks with pure-blooded ‘suitors’ his mother had tried to arrange for him – the less said about those the better. He had made the wise decision very early on to never mix his work and social lives as it would only lead to trouble – although in hindsight that could have been exactly what allowed Grindelwald to take over his life quite so easily. But overall, Percival had certainly never become quite so… besotted with someone in the way he had been with Newt. At first, he had convinced himself that he had merely been grateful to the striking, peculiar, brilliant young man for saving him, but that illusion had crumbled quicker with each word he read in Newt’s messy, eager scrawl. With every beautifully crafted sketch, with every plump-lipped, angelic smile, with every flash of emotion in those captivating eyes… Percival had been drawn deeper into the enigma of Newt Scamander.

But no matter how much he cared for the younger man, he wasn’t going to force himself on him when he was in such a vulnerable state. He couldn’t build anything between them on a dependency born of a hurt-comfort based relationship. Percival would wait until Newt was ready… and if he never was, then he would respect that too.         

The attentive clinic staff, Tina and Theseus seemed to have things well in hand and Percival thought it would probably be best if he left them to watch over Newt without the added difficulty of one of the sources of Newt’s distress being present. Sending one last, apologetic, restrained glance at Newt, he stood to leave, releasing Newt’s hand gently as he did so.

Percival’s wounds were definitely in a stage in which he could safely leave the clinic by now, he had only been staying this long past absolute necessity so he could watch over Newt. The lacerations were now fading, white puckered scars that faded more with every application of the ointment of dittany extract, they itched occasionally and stretched if he overexerted himself, but he had certainly had worse. The scars of what Grindelwald had done to him during his own captivity attested to that, though many of the worst wounds he had endured in his twenty years as an Auror had not scarred. Grindelwald’s attacks may have left more permanent scars than any others he had experienced before, but it by no means meant that they were the worst – simply that the dark wizard was powerful enough for the marks to stick. There was no logical reason why he should not return to the states and his work back at MACUSA immediately. From an Auror’s standpoint, he had taken a very unprofessional interest in a witness to Grindelwald’s crimes - a victim. Mercy Lewis, what was he doing?        

He was pretty sure that Theseus would be pleased by his decision – he had made his disapproval of Percival’s presence exceedingly clear already. Though he truly wished to stay with Newt, he got the impression that his face was acting as a constant reminder of the pain for the younger man, besides, he had shirked his duties to MACUSA for too long already. Percival might be confident in Tina’s ability to manage the Department of Magical Security, but it was a task that he was well accustomed to dealing with by now. His work was his constant – whenever he was unsure of anything in his life, he buried himself back into his work until the situation either went away or resolved itself.

Uncertainty was becoming a familiar companion as of late, Newt just did something to him that made his convictions and confidence in his own solidarity slip away. It would probably be for the best that he give Newt time to recover without his overbearing presence. There would be time enough for him to venture closer to Newt late - he didn’t want to overwhelm the man’s clearly already taxed mind and heart by trying to express his affection too soon. Percival prided himself on being a patient man and, for Newt, he was most certainly willing to be just that.  

He had been given several spare sets of clothes by Tina that she had collected from his office whilst at MACUSA and Percival was already wearing one of them, as it was still only early afternoon outside. Dark trousers pressed, waistcoat unbuttoned and white shirt neat, he slipped on his coat, preparing to leave. This was probably for the best, he should leave now so that Newt did not wake again to see an ever-present source of discomfort for him. As much as he wished to linger, he knew that if he didn’t leave now then he would probably lose his nerve – there was just something about Newt that made it difficult for him to say no to. If the man asked him to stay, he knew he would – even if it was at the younger’s detriment. This was what was best for Newt.               

“Graves.” He turned sharply, eyes immediately fixing upon Theseus who was looking at him with uncertainty and frustration swirling in his painfully familiar Newt-like eyes, but where Newt’s eyes were softly nervous, Theseus’ were shielded and closer to true blue than the slightly green taint that his brother’s held. “I… appreciate what you’re doing. You seem to have been a… comfort for Newt.”

There was a painfully long pause in which Percival could sense the man’s hesitance and that he was swallowing down his pride and infuriation as he finished. “Thank you.” 

Percival felt his dark, sculpted brows rise somewhere into his hairline in disbelief but nodded in acknowledgement, nonetheless. The clinic staff – seemingly satisfied that Newt was no longer in a state where he might die, had left during Percival’s prolonged silent reverie. Tina was once again clasping Theseus’ hand in her own in a seemingly reassuring gesture and he almost was tempted to comment upon it, but from the tears glistening in Tina’s eyes and the set of Theseus’ jaw, he knew now was not the time to challenge what Newt had seemed so oblivious to earlier. Whatever was going on between those two was their business and though it would likely involve Newt at some point later down the line, Percival was not going to make the mistake of involving himself in the affairs of his Ministerial colleagues.   

Theseus’ comment, however, left him inwardly reeling, almost as much as the younger Scamander’s reaction to the stew had. He was unsure of how to respond to the compliment – accurate or inaccurate as it may be – whatever the case, he still couldn’t quite believe that the other man had admitted that Percival might not be as bad for Newt as he seemed to believe. The clear swallowing of pride that Theseus had just undergone made Percival’s view on the elder Scamander warm slightly – clearly he cared for his little brother, even past his pettier grievances. What was it about the Scamander brothers that seemed to put him out of joint like this? Was it a family trait? Or maybe it was just the effect Newt had on him leaking over onto everyone around him.   

He levelled a flat, blunt gaze at Theseus “I think it would be best for all involved that I left. Please give Newt my best wishes for a swift recovery.”

Percival, out of a barely repressed need to linger, conjured paper and searched a chased silver fountain pen out of his coat pocket, going over to Newt’s bedside table to scribble a brief note explaining his absence to Newt. He folded the note in half, charming it wordlessly to only open for the young magizoologist after glimpsing Theseus and Tina’s curious expressions. He placed it softly upon the bedside table where it was soon joined by an equally curious Bowtruckle, who sat upon it as if to guard the paper. He smiled softly at the twig-like creature for a moment and held out a finger to him which was ignored as he crossed his tiny, spindly arms and settled upon the note with his back to him. It seemed that Pickett did not appreciate his decision to leave.     

The Director then turned once more to leave, slightly dejected, Theseus and Tina having nodded in assent to his request – the former looking reservedly relieved and the latter biting her lip in clear indecision. Whatever it was that Tina wanted to say, Percival knew from years of experience that the elder Goldstein would likely bring it up belatedly but for now, she kept quiet.

He paused at the door under the pretence of bidding goodbye to the other Aurors, but as he spoke his eyes couldn’t help but be drawn back to the slumbering form of Newt. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Goldstein.”

He nodded in her direction absently, gaze still fixed upon Newt as he addressed his brother. “Scamander.” Percival tore his gaze up to fix seriously upon Theseus who seemed surprised. “Look after him. Be patient.”      

“I don’t appreciate being told how to care for my own brother, Graves.” Theseus’ tone was a contradiction to his rather cutting words as his eyes glimmered with something odd that Percival couldn’t identity. Tina admonished him under her breath and Theseus grimaced slightly before his expression softened. “But yes, I will.”

Percival’s brows raised slightly, and he readjusted his collar in a reflexive gesture but nodded once more. He glanced again at Newt, who was sleeping more calmly than he had seen him do in the time since they had been brought to the clinic, no twitching or restless muttering. There was a slight crease between his brows, but his breathing was smooth and even, it seemed to Percival that the younger man was relieved by his leaving even in unconsciousness.

Yes, this was for the best. Of course it was.  

For Newt.

 **A/N – ahh please don’t hate me for this, but it is necessary… things will be better… promise?  Also, side note, just realised that I had misgendered Pickett up until now so have gone back through to change it - sorry!**        


	3. Chapter 3

**“I shouldn't laugh but I know I'm a failure in your eyes, I know it's daft, but I guess that I know it deep inside, it feels like we're ready to crack these days, you and I.**

**We're gonna separate ourselves tonight, we're always running scared but holding knives but there's a black chandelier, it's casting shadows and lies**

**I'll sit in silence for the rest of my life if you'd like, dressing our wings with industrial gloves made of wire. Feel it penetrating the skin, we begin to relax, when it's just the two of us, and a cute little cup of cyanide.” – ‘Black Chandelier’ – Biffy Clyro**

His sleep lasted longer than it had before, it was not interspersed with vivid nightmares and Grindelwald’s presence – whilst still unnerving and invasive – did not prevent him from hunkering down in his corner of the cell and closing his eyes. How he was able to sleep within a dream, Newt was not really sure, but he guessed that it was likely the same reason why he could feel cold in this manifestation of Nurmengard. He supposed that when his body slept, his mental defences and conscious thoughts were lowered, which was what allowed Grindelwald to tap into the bond connection and project himself into his dreams. Whilst in the state of unconsciousness, his mind, up until now, had been kept active by the presence of another within it - but now, it seemed that Grindelwald was allowing him to find rest in his sleep. _Or maybe it’s because you have begun to open up to him – you’re letting him in._

Newt didn’t like that the little voice was making sense – conveying that irritating, disturbing honesty and insight into his darker thoughts that he would much rather ignore. But as he slowly returned to the waking world, at an easy pace, he couldn’t help but feel relieved and begrudgingly grateful that he did not feel as tired as he had beforehand. His mind felt a little clearer with the helpful addition of proper rest, though he still felt his anxiety and ever-present panic bubbling _just_ below the surface of the sleep-induced glow.

He could feel a numb heaviness laying upon his chest – likely the aftereffects of his apparent heart-attack, but other than that, he could sense that whatever new wards and charms had been placed upon him were doing the trick at dulling the pain. He felt slightly floaty and oddly warm under the layers of shimmering healing charms. The young magizoologist opened his eyes as he felt a spindly finger poke gently at his face - knowing the touch instantly as being Pickett’s, he smiled and rolled his head to the side to see the Bowtruckle standing on the pillow beside him. “Hey Pick.”    

He chirruped back a quick little stream of agitated sounding noises that left Newt confused at first. “What is it?”

He chirruped again, though more slowly this time, pointing over to the other side of the room and then looking back to Newt again with tiny black eyes. Puzzled, Newt looked over to where the Bowtruckle had indicated and felt a sinking sensation in his chest as he saw that the bed was empty. It was neatly-made and Percival’s expensive looking coat was gone from where it had been hanging across the bottom bedrail. Newt looked around in confusion, sitting up slowly with a soft groan as he regarded the sunlit ward. It was empty. No staff. No friends. No brother. And no Percival. It was just him and Pickett. How long had he been asleep? It had been light outside when he fell asleep too, but he couldn’t tell how much time had passed - it could have been minutes, hours or days.

Where was Percival? Had he even ever been here, or had it been part of his imagination? Was this all just one big fantasy? He reached a shaky hand out to Pickett, wanting to feel some physical contact with a familiar friend – something that could ground him. The Bowtruckle gladly clambered onto the back of Newt’s bandaged right hand and across to scale his forearm - his broken fingers kept in place with soft white binding whilst they finished healing with the aid of Skele-grow. Newt couldn’t remember having broken them but according to Percival… or whatever the thing in the bed beside him had been – he had been found lying underneath rubble, so he supposed it must have happened when Grindelwald blasted him backwards. _Trying to get you out of the way of the crossfire._ Not relevant, stop it.

His throat felt dry and scratchy, likely from the abrupt sickness, so Newt leant over to the bedside table to reach the ever-present container of water – metal, after the accidental magical outbursts – and took several long gulps of it. Newt was just putting the empty cup back down when he saw the folded slip of parchment that sat upon the wooden surface. He frowned slightly, picking it up and seeing that it had his name inscribed elegantly on the outside. The writing was in a familiar sloping, cursive style hand that he recognised instantly as Percival’s, he slipped open the folded paper and traced his eyes along the words with an odd, tight feeling closing the back of his throat.

_Newt_

_I apologise for leaving so abruptly, but my duties to MACUSA require me to return to America and, as I am sure you are aware, recent events have left Ministries across the globe floundering. I wish you a swift recovery that will not be encumbered by my presence any further. If you feel the need to discuss anything that has occurred or relieve yourself of any burdens, do not hesitate to contact me._

_Apologetically yours, Percival. E. Graves_

The note left Newt feeling both slightly relieved and even more confused. The formal address conflicted somewhat with the familiar tone he sensed from the words, but at the same time he understood the need for Percival to upkeep a formal air between them. They may be friends – or at least Newt hoped they were – but he could tell that the man thought he had overstepped some sort of boundary if the closing signature was anything to go by. What did he have to apologise for?

He probably regretted abandoning his work for so long and Newt felt guilt at the thought that the man had been stuck in the same hospital room with him due to his injuries. He had thought that they had been getting along fairly well, despite Newt’s awfully awkward and skittish behaviour, but maybe he had misread the situation. He did that a lot – just because every smile Percival sent him melted Newt’s spine away to jelly did not mean that the Auror felt the same way, in fact it was very unlikely. Newt had thought that the reassuring, very much welcome touches between them had meant that Percival felt comfortable around him – that he wanted to prolong their contact, but it seemed that Newt had once again misread the situation. It seemed that Graves only wanted to ensure that whatever misplaced sense of duty he felt towards Newt had been fulfilled. A lingering notion of gratitude to him for his part in finding him perhaps? An eye for an eye? A rescue and hospital visit in return for his own? _Or maybe you just scared him off with your clinginess and mixed signals – he probably just got fed up with your weakness and thought he better leave before you dragged him down with you._

The thought stung Newt’s eyes with hot tears and his throat felt tighter than ever, he sniffled slightly, scrubbing furiously at his eyes with the palms of his bandaged hands to clear away the droplets of moisture before they could properly fall. He had shed too many tears already as of late. Whatever the truth of it was, Percival was gone and clearly had better things to do than babysit a broken magizoologist. He should have known that he couldn’t rely upon the comfort of someone who clearly wasn’t ever going to stick around – shouldn’t have expected him to.

As he lowered his hands shakily into his lap, Pickett came over again and clambered up to settle back into his perch in the hollow at his neck. Newt smiled, watery and grateful down at him, at the gesture of comfort. It seemed that they both now had attachment issues to deal with – not just the Bowtruckle. Pickett was a good reminder that even if he couldn’t rely upon the human presences in his life, he still had his creatures. This prompted a tug in his chest as he thought of his case, not for the first time of course, but now with a much stronger desire to see his creature friends.

It had been so long since he had seen them, he felt the irresistible urge to check upon them, to make sure that the had not suffered or pined in his absence - to just be near them again. Though he was sure that Dumbledore and Bunty had taken good care of them as Theseus had placated him that they had, he still couldn’t control the sudden, fierce need to see them. Newt missed the smells of hay, freshly fallen rain on rocky outcrops, dewy grass under his feet, the heavy heat of jungle air on his skin sand the ubiquitous cacophony of hisses, barks, calls, squawks, squeaks and sniffles of his case. The sterility of the hospital room felt suddenly stifling to him without the presences of other living beings to warm it. Without the distractions of others, Newt was starting to feel the familiar isolation and coldness that he had associated with the cells he had been trapped in. He felt the need to move, to be closer to light and nature.

Pulling aside the bedcovers, Newt stiffly swung his bandaged, mostly-healed legs over the edge of the bed and stood, bracing himself firmly against the mattress as he pushed himself upwards. His legs shook slightly beneath him but held and he awkwardly, stiffly moved his way across the matter of ten feet to stand by the window. He leant heavily upon the high-set sill and gazed out at the landscape beyond the pane of enchanted glass. Outside, he was pleasantly surprised to see a vast, shimmering lake of crystalline water, bracketed on the opposite side by green hills that looked beautifully vibrant against the wintery blue sky. It was picturesque and reminded Newt of several equally stunning places he had seen throughout his rather extensive travels. He had caught brief glimpses of the sky and emerald topped hills from his bed but had not been able to see the full extent of the view until now.

Unlatching the window from its casement with clumsy fingers, he swung it open, breathing a sigh of relief as he felt fresh air blow through to caress his overly-warm face. The breeze may have been a bit strong and rather chilly, but it felt unbelievably welcome after over a week of being trapped in his bed and time before trapped in the windowless cells. He hadn’t really had a chance to appreciate the mountaintop view or freedom it presented earlier, as he had been rather preoccupied with the numbing effects of hypothermia, as well as the presence of two incredibly powerful wizards hurling magic at one another. Imminent threat of death was usually a good distraction from a beautiful view after all – though it depressingly enough wasn’t the first time he had come to that realisation.

It wasn’t as if any of this was really distracting him from the ever-present horrors or spirit-deep pain that run throughout him, but his shattered, strained mind could only focus on so many things at once. And enjoying a refreshing breath of mountain air combined with a beautiful view was something that brought Newt closer to his creatures, to his home-from-home that he had made in his case. Pickett clung to his neck with spindly limbs, a reassuring little leafy presence against his skin that helped to keep him in the moment; kept his thoughts away from memories and questions that he would rather not face.

He had pushed through pain and confusion before; he just had to keep close to what he knew. _We all have our constants, don’t we Newt?_  Though he knew exactly where the phrasing of the words had come from, Newt couldn’t deny that they were right – his creatures were what drove him, what supported him and what protected him. Having creatures that relied upon him, that wanted him no matter what how awkward and stupid or clumsy he was… it was easier. His creatures didn’t suddenly abandon him. They didn’t have unfortunate smells or choices of wording that could trigger awful memories. He just wanted to be back in his case.

Newt wondered how long it would be before he could go home, to have his case back, to be able to be with his friends again. He was stable enough to stand now, surely that should mean he was healthy enough to leave these foreign, sterile surroundings and go back to what he knew? He sighed, leaning further against the high-set windowsill until his chin almost rested upon the white wood, leaning forward upon his folded, bandaged arms and continuing to gaze out at the peaceful looking lake.

He lost his sense of time but found himself snapped out of his quiet contemplation when he heard a sharp intake of breath come from behind him. “Newt! What are you doing?”

He turned a bit too quickly at the sharp concern he heard in Theseus’ voice, his left leg slipped out from underneath him as his bare foot squeaked uncomfortably against the tiled floor. He just about managed to catch himself on the windowsill before he hit the ground, but the hasty grip caused the scarred metal in his fingertips to flare with pain and Newt let out a hiss, releasing his grip as though burned. He would have fallen for a second time had there not suddenly been a pair of strong arms that wrapped themselves around his middle, catching him and hauling him back up into a standing position.

The young magizoologist heard a muttered “Bloody idiot” before Theseus was guiding him awkwardly over to the bed, manoeuvring him to sit on the mattress. Newt resisted the attempt to make him lie back down and instead sat with his feet firmly upon the ground and back as straight as he could manage, though still subconsciously retaining his natural hunch. Theseus shot him a disapproving, odd look before waving a hand over to one of the chairs which floated around to sit close to the side of the bed on which Newt was settled. His brother sat, back equally as straight and regarding Newt in a grim fashion, looking oddly formal. It wasn’t odd that he looked formal in normal circumstances, but now, when it was just the two of them… it unsettled Newt slightly.

Despite their strained relationship and both of their…difficulties with expressing emotions to one another, they often fell back into patterns of childhood behaviour when left alone. Though they certainly no longer played pranks upon one another and Theseus hadn’t resorted to head-locking him in at least fifteen years, there was still usually teasing and what Newt could suppose was ‘boisterous behaviour.’ There was no hint of that mischievousness in Theseus’ gaze now – he looked fearful. He hadn’t seen that sort of fear in his brother’s eyes before.  

“What were you doing by the window, Newt?” The repeated question caught him off guard slightly and he looked back at his elder brother with some confusion, eyebrows raised slightly.

“Enjoying the view?” The reply came out as a slightly questioning, huff of amused breath. He wasn’t sure what Theseus wanted him to say, but whatever he had wanted to hear apparently wasn’t that and the Auror sighed. 

“Look, Newt, if you don’t want to talk about it then that’s up to you, but please don’t make any decisions that can’t be undone.” Newt was thoroughly confused now, what in Merlin’s name was he talking about? Newt’s confusion must have shown on his face as Theseus sighed again, reaching out a hand to place it upon Newt’s shoulder in what he assumed was meant to be reassurance. He leant forward, blue eyes clearly attempting to catch Newt’s own, but Newt couldn’t find the nerve to do so; eyes were difficult at the best of times. “I’m sure that Graves’ leaving has upset you but there are better ways to deal with it than… contemplating what seems like an easier way out. Jumping wouldn’t solve anything…Newt, I’m here if you want to talk about it, and so is Tina. I hope you realise that.”

Theseus’ tone drew Newt’s gaze to his own in shock. He had thought he was trying to kill himself?! He had thought that Newt was going to jump from the window because of Percival leaving? Did Theseus really think that he was in such a low place? While it was true that he had almost allowed himself to fall away several times already - when it had seemed like the ‘easier option’ as Theseus had put it, but he wouldn’t actively search out an end to his life. He may not be coping as well or being as strong as Theseus would have been in his position, but he had hoped his brother would think better of him than this. Was it really so easy for Theseus to believe that Newt would kill himself rather that fight on? Did he really seem that weak? 

Newt supposed that it was partially his own fault – Theseus had no idea what had actually happened to bring him to this low, dark, beaten down place in his life. His brother’s imagination could well be running wild with any number of increasingly horrific scenarios that could have led to Newt wanting to kill himself. Whilst it was not an entirely unrealistic notion on the elder’s part, Newt realised that Theseus deserved to know what had happened – at the very least what had happened to their father. Why he wouldn’t take any more of Theseus’ family away from him, not now - it wouldn’t be fair on him. He swallowed thickly, feeling his heart clench and a bitter taste rising in his throat at the sudden ascension of the repressed memories – like a dead frog floating to the surface of a bog. He took several deep, calming breaths and met Thee’s gaze, this time with sincere apology in his eyes.

“I wasn’t trying to k-kill myself Thee, I just needed some air… I’m sorry if I scared you.” He took another breath before the truth began slipping stumblingly from his lips; it felt as though the words couldn’t be stopped - even if he had tried. “I wouldn’t do that to you, or to my creatures – they need me. I came close to… l-letting myself g-go… a f-few times… but I wouldn’t do that - not now. I c-couldn’t. I _wouldn’t_.”

Theseus’s eyes had widened as he spoke, the fear lessening but instead being overtaken by concern. This was probably the most he had spoken to him in days, but Newt couldn’t stop himself from speaking as he stumbled over his words to relieve himself of the truth that had plagued him for too long already. Theseus _had_ to know. “Thee, I w-wanted to t-tell you before, but I c-couldn’t- I d-didn’tt-” he paused and took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. “Dads dead.”   

Theseus’ face went utterly blank, his slightly parted lips pressed together into a thin, grim line and his jaw visibly tightened. There was silence for several, far too long moments before he pried open his jaw, his hands shaking very slightly where they rested on his knees and he asked in a far too calm voice. “What do you mean? What does this have to do with what happened to you? Why would you say that?”

Newt swallowed again, convulsively, unnerved by Theseus’ lack of reaction and from the nausea he could feel swirling violently within his chest and pressing at the back of his throat. He had to do this. “Grindelwald- he…f-found him, in- in London and… he k-killed him… s-said he d-did it for m-me…” 

Newt pressed his eyes tight shut, feeling rising pressure behind his temples that left him dizzy, slowly edging backwards on the bed until he had enough room to bring his gangly, injured legs up to his chest. He felt slightly safer in the position, almost as if Theseus’s hatred and disgust couldn’t reach him if he closed his eyes. As if he was a smaller target to curse out of existence if he curled in on himself. Theseus must hate him. As bad as father had been, Theseus had always had a closer relationship with him than Newt had – there had been a brief time before Newt had been born when the family pictures had been happier, before Alexander Scamander had gone quite so heavily into the drink and his mean streak had come out.

It had been why their father had allowed Theseus some leeway when it came to handling Newt – why he had tasked his eldest son with maintaining the chain of command within their household. By the time Newt had been born, Theseus had already had the rigid, militaristic upbringing instilled into him and Alexander had just lost interest in caring for his son past keeping him in line. Newt had just been a lost cause for him, but the youngest Scamander still did not begrudge either of his elders for having a closer relationship. He envied Thee for being able to have that, if only for a little while.

When his father had come to him, asking for help in convincing Theseus to give him money, Newt had been surprised and slightly proud that Theseus had denied him anything. He felt regret and revulsion curl his insides now though, at the thought that the last thing he had said to his father had been that he couldn’t help him, and that Theseus’ last words had likely been something similar. _Well you kept that word didn’t you Newt? Not only did you **not** help him, you got him killed and then **ate** him._

Newt knew he was shaking, that he was rocking back and forth, and that Theseus was touching his arms again, pulling at them until his clenching finger released the painfully tight grip that he had on his hair. _That_ he hadn’t realised. He looked up cautiously at the sound of his name, eyes wide and tear stained. There was no hate in Theseus’ eyes. Just concern. But then he didn’t know what Newt had done, but he should know, he needed to know what sort of monster he was consoling.

_And that’s the reason you attract all the monsters isn’t it? Because you are one yourself. It’s what made Gellert so interested in you. It’s what draws in the monsters – human and beast alike. Gellert was just showing you what you really are – something that would eat the flesh of his own kin, that would just roll over to do whatever he wanted – just begging to be dominated and fucked by the first man who showed him any attention. He saw you were weak enough, he saw the darkness in you – the possibility for corruptibility. The capability to destroy everything around you by being so pathetic and vile._

Stop it, stop it, no, stop it, please stop, stop it, no, stop- the pleas blurred together in his mind and off his tongue until he couldn’t distinguish the sounds anymore. Newt’s mind was a mess of jumbled, overlapping, brutally honest, painful sounds, colours and shrieks. He couldn’t breathe. He needed air. He needed it to _stop_.  

There was suddenly another presence in his mind, he could feel something cool, calm, bright and solid - like a lighthouse in a storm. He was drowning under waves of despair, of misery and agony until the presence appeared at the edges, it gave him scope – made him realise that there _was_ an edge to be found, that there was an end to the darkness that was consuming him. Blindly, not even thinking about it, Newt threw himself towards it. He just wanted this to stop.

It was familiar and though Newt could tell it was something to do with the blood-bond, he couldn’t quite tell from which end of the bond. They were both so similar after all. Not as polar as he tried to make them out to be. Both brilliant, bright, magnetic and oddly detached from everything else. And despite outwards appearances, both held a core of passion, of something they orientated themselves around. The light he was drawn to was gentle, coaxing but still blinding. It was like it couldn’t help the brightness and tried to mediate it with the softness.

It whispered heartening, welcome words that told him he was not to blame for the horrible things that had happened around him or _to_ him – that he was not at fault. It told him the reason he attracted broken things was because he was light – that he was pure enough to cast a healing glow upon others that made them feel like they _could_ be better. He drew in the darkness because he had such an astounding capability to love what no others could. Even the darkest, foulest of hearts sought out such love.

He wasn’t sure if what the presence was telling him was true, or if it was just whispering sweet nothings in his ear to make him feel better. But whatever the case was, it slowly, ever so slowly, drew Newt out of the pit of self-hatred, shame and misery that had been consuming him. He hated being this _weak_ \- that he had to rely upon another’s presence to drag him back from the edge of insanity every time. That he had to rely upon another to stop him from breaking apart. Maybe Theseus was right to worry about him giving up – he just wasn’t as strong as his big brother. Not as strong as Percival. Everyone else had seemed to realise it. It’s why they treated him like he was infinitely fragile. Newt didn’t like the idea that he had become as dependant upon voices in his head as his creatures were upon him. The presence softened around him and gently reminded him that no man is an island – it was not weakness to need the help and love of others. It was what made the difference between a man and a true monster.

Newt thought rather distantly that his head was getting awfully crowded and though it could well have been his imagination, he could swear he heard a laugh ring in his head at the thought. _Okay, this is just getting ridiculous now, time to wake up._ Newt found himself jerking forwards as a sharp ringing sound shot through his senses and he took several deep, gasping breaths as he suddenly became aware of his surroundings once more. He was still on the bed but was now stretched out as he had been for most of his time there, the blankets were not covering him, and he could feel people standing nearby. Well, at least he hadn’t had another heart attack – it seemed that this time, the sensory overload had been entirely mental this time rather than a physical reaction. He wasn’t sure, but that felt like an improvement. Was it? It was honestly hard to tell what was classed as better with such things.

He glanced to both sides in quick, gauging looks and saw that Theseus was stood on the same side as before, concerned blue eyes gazing back down at him. On his other side, he seemed to have gained another visitor in the form of Albus Dumbledore. Ah, that explained which presence he had felt quite so strongly in his mind. Or at least he thought it did. Merlin’s beard, his head hurt – it felt as though the sharp ringing sensation had sent a slice of hot pain along with it that was slowly dissipating from his mind. What had that been? He turned his gaze back to Theseus and moved to sit up further in the bed, focussing on taking deep breaths to soothe his racing heart.       

“Sorry Thee.” His brother frowned and shook his head in disbelief and apparent exasperation.

“If you apologise _one_ more time for something that isn’t your fault, I swear to Merlin and anyone else who’s willing to listen that I will jinx your lips shut like I did when we were little.” Despite the annoyance clear in his tone, Newt could also sense his concern; this felt much more natural than the earlier formality and he managed to crack a weak smile at him. It only took a few moments of faux stern glaring before Theseus also cracked and returned it, reaching over to pull Newt into a tight hug. He was shaking slightly. The both were. Neither commented upon it though.

The hug lasted longer than it usually might, but Newt, for once, did not find the prolonged contact to be quite as uncomfortable as he previously would have. It felt good to relax into such a familiar gesture – it made him feel like Thee might not be quite as disgusted, disappointed or angry with him as he had thought. Being treated like he was made of glass by everyone had been making him feel like he was more breakable than he really was. The normality of Theseus’ teasing threat and his fondness for hugs made Newt _feel_ closer to being normal. It made him think that there could realistically be a point after all of this when his life might be like it was before, maybe not exactly the same – _definitely not_ – but not as dark as it was now.

Newt was also relieved to discover that there was nothing about Theseus being so close to him that reminded him of Grindelwald – the contact was warm, clean and honest, just a tightening of the arms around his shoulders and a loose hand on his neck. It was nice to be able to receive comfort without the paradoxical sensation of worry and mistrust bubbling just under the surface of his shattered nerves.       

When Theseus finally withdrew, he tapped Newt briefly, awkwardly on the shoulder and Newt offered him a small, brief, but grateful smile. It was amazing how such a simple act and familiar words had seemed to make Newt feel so much lighter. They both glanced over to Albus as the elder wizard cleared his throat slightly, not in a rude way, merely one that called politely for attention. Newt flushed slightly guiltily as he realised that he had all but ignore the man who just dragged him out a pit of self-induced panic and despair. His first instinct was to apologise but both older wizards sent him such a look when he opened his mouth that he snapped it shut almost instantly. One expression was understanding, and the other was a warning. Albus likely already felt what he was going to say, and Theseus knew him well enough to be able to guess. He let out a nervous chuckle and his brother shook his head exhaustedly and put his hands in his pockets, eyes going back over to Albus.

Newt looked up at him with a grateful gaze and spoke softly, earnestly. “Thank you, Albus – I don’t know what I would have done if…” He trailed off as Dumbledore raised a hand to quieten him, summoning a chair from across the room much like Theseus had earlier and sitting upon it with one leg crossed over the other, hat and leather gloves balanced neatly across his knee.              

“I apologise for the abruptness of my visit, but I don’t believe that I could have ignored your distress even if I had wanted to.” He offered Newt a kind smile, eyes warm but still holding something that left him feeling slightly apprehensive. “But I must encourage you to proceed with more caution in future. Placing trust or leniency in the wrong places can be equally as detrimental as placing none at all.”

Newt knew exactly what he was referring to – Grindelwald. He had likely sensed Newt’s… slip up in defiance against the dark wizard. He probably thought Newt was succumbing to Grindelwald’s notorious magnetism – that he was letting his guard down to the wrong person. Newt knew the danger, but swore to not let it happen again, it had been a moment of weakness – a need for relief that Grindelwald had just so happened to be in an opportunistic position to fulfil. He met Albus’ blue eyes with his own and passed along his meaning along with solemn words. “It won’t happen again.”

Albus nodded, but the concern remained in his decidedly healthier looking face, Newt tore his gaze away only when he heard Theseus cough awkwardly from the other side of the bed and he turned to meet his brother’s confused, slightly irritated gaze. “I’m afraid I seem to be at a disadvantage here – what exactly am I missing?”   

Newt felt an uncomfortable feeling stir in his gut at the thought of trying to explain the blood-bond to his brother. As unhappily resigned as he was about the bond himself, he could only imagine that Theseus would find the idea of Newt having a direct link to the most infamous dark wizard of their time much worse. It would also likely lead onto leading questions about everything that occurred between himself and Grindelwald and Newt was most definitely _not_ ready for that confrontation. Telling him about the death of their father had been enough to nearly crush his sanity out of existence with the waves of overwhelming emotion. And he hadn’t even managed to tell him the worst of it. As much as Newt realised the necessity of relieving himself of these burdens and giving his brother knowledge that could help him be better aware of how to help him, the mere thought of expressing those awful memories in his own words was enough to bring the clawing, bile inducing panic back inside him.

Albus touched a hand briefly to Newt’s in a soft, grounding gesture before bringing his eyes up to request permission for something. Though Newt was unsure of what it was he was asking exactly, he trusted that Albus would not ask anything of him that would hurt him – not after everything he had already done for him. The young magizoologist nodded slightly and Albus turned his gaze up to address both himself and Theseus with his usual calm gravity. “I might suggest that rather than attempting to find words to describe such complexities as the ones at hand, that Newt might allow us to see the relevant memories for ourselves.”

Newt’s head jolted up at this and he swallowed thickly as both elder wizard’s gazes sought out his own – seeking permission, though now he knew what for. Whilst he felt a severe rush of anxious, shame filled panic at the idea of anyone else witnessing just what had happened… he realised that this might be easier to do than having to vocalize the events of the past few weeks. But it would mean that he would have to let Albus and Theseus see _everything._ His pathetic reactions to the constant torture, the conversations between him and the dark wizard… and what Grindelwald had _almost_ done… what he _had_ done.

“It’s up to you, Newt. You don’t have to do anything you are not willing to do.” Albus’s voice was earnest and firm but slightly softened with an audible apology as he continued. “But I do believe that it would help. Both in terms of your recovery and in that it would help me gather a better impression of any plans that Gellert has set into action that you may have missed.”

 _He certainly is one for contingency plans after all._ As much as the idea made his insides squirm with anxious shame and fear, Newt realised that Albus was right – there may well have been things that Grindelwald could have said or done that held more meaning to Albus, things that he could make better sense of. Just because Grindelwald was locked up did not mean that his plans had been stopped in their tracks. He had enough foresight, intelligence, skill, influence and cunning to have years’ worth of strategies still ready to be played out. If Newt could help in possibly letting Albus prevent those endeavours, then he would and if that meant maybe gaining some understanding from those close to him in the process… he had to. He shouldn’t let his shame and fear get in the way of that.

He nodded softly and spoke in a quiet, firm voice. “Alright.”

Albus had already been inside of head before – how much worse could this be?

 **A/N – Feedback? Requests? Dislikes/likes? I really appreciate blunt honesty about anything from plot, writing style, typos, inconsistencies and reader desires, so lay em’ on me!**          


	4. Chapter 4

**“I'm a goner, somebody catch my breath, I wanna be known by you…Though I'm weak and beaten down, I'll slip away into the sound, the ghost of you is close to me I'm inside out, You're underneath… I’ve got two faces, Blurry’s the one I’m not, I need your help to take him out…Don’t let me be gone.” – ‘Goner’ – Twenty-One Pilots**

Seeing the terror plain on his younger brother’s face, in his familiar eyes…that was bad enough, but it was the resignedness that tore him up on the inside. The idea that Newt was going through so much confusion and pain but was still willing to share that suffering if it could help Dumbledore gain better insight into Grindelwald’s malicious, warmongering endeavours. Theseus realized that he wasn’t letting them do this just to help him, not because he wanted them to know – knowing how stubborn Newt usually was, he could tell that his driving motive lay more with the potential for aiding the greater good. Not the kind that Grindelwald spouted but genuine betterment of the wizarding and muggle worlds alike.

Loathe as he was to admit it to himself or anyone else, but Theseus needed answers in a professional sense just as much as he needed them to simply be able to help Newt. He wanted to know what had happened so he could better understand what his sibling had endured and what might set off the panic or heart attacks. But as the Head of Magical Security in the British Ministry, he knew that is was also his duty to gather any pertinent information upon Grindelwald or his plans that Newt may have overlooked – similarly to how Dumbledore intended to.

As much as he would like to place faith within the elder wizard - as his Newt did - Theseus still found himself plagued by lingering suspicions of the man. The sort of relationship that he held or had once held with Grindelwald was none of his business, that was until matters of international security and his little brother were concerned. If there was any chance that Dumbledore was attempting to exercise leniency with Grindelwald’s incarceration or somehow hoodwink the Ministry into thinking that the dark wizard was dealt with… well, Theseus couldn’t and wouldn’t take the risk.

He knew that Newt placed large amounts of trust in his ex-teacher and Theseus did get the feeling that he Dumbledore was genuine in his concern for the young magizoologist, however, he also knew that even the best of individuals could be blinded by the bonds of love and melancholy. He would much rather be sure of what had occurred between Dumbledore, Grindelwald and Newt and be able to be confident in the security of the wizarding community by ensuring that Grindelwald’s imprisonment was comprehensive enough to prevent any recurring issues. Another war was not something Theseus was willing to risk on the word of one man.

He was proud of Newt for choosing to allow them into his memories and glad that he seemed more trusting than before. The brief confession he had made of what had happened to their father had been a shock already and Theseus could not imagine that the rest of what Newt had endured had been much better. The Auror’s mind was still reeling somewhat in the aftermath of the revelation concerning the wretched sot that happened to be bound to them both in blood. He had long ago abandoned the notion of reconnecting with the man after he had come to him in his office at the Ministry nearly ten years before – he had told his father in no uncertain terms not to come back. Alexander had made a rather large spectacle of himself in the main atrium as Theseus escorted him out and he had had to prevent several of his colleagues from arresting the man as he started yelling colourful threats at him.

It had been an embarrassing, draining affair that had ended in Theseus saying some things that he now felt may have been unnecessarily harsh in the light of his apparent death. Not having been able to gain any details from Newt before the panic had overcome him, he wasn’t sure exactly in what circumstances his brother had gotten the impression that their father was dead. But whatever the case was, Theseus did not blame Newt for any of it. The broken, garbled mumblings that had fallen from Newt’s lips as he had curled upon the bed had horrified Theseus as he realised that his sibling thought that Theseus would blame him, that he would hate him for what Grindelwald had done.

As Dumbledore withdrew his wand and began to guide Newt through the difficult process of removing memories, Theseus took some morbid solace in the thought that he was likely about to discover the answers to most of his questions. Witnessing the way that Dumbledore coaxingly but firmly got Newt to lay back on the pillows, grasping his hand in his own and touching his wand-tip to the younger’s forehead to collect a silvery strand of memory was odd. The two men seemed to share some sort of unspoken understanding that left Theseus feeling as an unwelcome onlooker as the minutes ticked by on the pocket-watch Theseus clutched in one hand, finger flexing in anticipation around it.

Newt’s brow was creased in a distressed frown and his eyes remained tightly closed as Dumbledore silently guided him through the ordeal of retrieving the required memories. Theseus had seen the process a hundred or more times as part of trials and interrogations over his career – had even extracted a fair amount of memories himself and as such, did not envy Newt being forced to replay his suffering yet again. Though judging by the nightmares and flashbacks Theseus had witnessed thus far, he didn’t imagine that this was anything particularly new for Newt. At least this replay would be helpful in some way.

By the time that Dumbledore had extracted the memories, there were thin, silent lines of tears streaming down Newt’s distraught face but surprisingly he did not make a sound other than a slight hitch in his breathing. When the professor moved his wand away from Newt’s forehead, the long strand of memory clinging to the tip, Newt’s eyes did not open, and Theseus felt concern stir in him once more until Dumbledore passed a hand over the Magizoologist’s forehead. Newt sighed contentedly and his head lolled to one side – clearly asleep, it was not an uncommon method of calming someone who had traumatic memories extracted. It would likely be easier on Newt to not be aware and anxious as he waited for Theseus and Dumbledore to peruse his memories. The elder wizard released Newt’s hand and reached into his inner cloak pocket, withdrawing a dinnerplate sized metal basin that Theseus recognised as a Pensieve.

Clearly, Newt wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the laxly upheld laws on undetectable expansion charms – despite however much Theseus attempted to enforce such restrictions. Thinking about it now, Theseus would not be surprised to realize it was probably Dumbledore who had tutored Newt in the use of the charm in the first place – the inner workings of his case were certainly no easy feat after all. The Auror had always found himself begrudgingly impressed by the amount of skill and care that had gone into Newt’s portable creature habitats – even if he didn’t approve of it. Yet _another_ one of the illegal activities that he had let slip by over the years for the sake of his well-meaning little brother.

Dumbledore stood up from his seat and Theseus too rose, moving to follow the elder as he placed the Pensieve on the vacant bed that Graves had previously occupied. The teacher carefully flicked the long strand of memory into the swirling silver depths of the basin before waving his wand at the door to the ward behind him, which clicked and shimmered as it was charmed shut. He raised an eyebrow at the action, but Dumbledore merely offered him a slight smile. “I would rather that Frau Marcier did not think to dispose of or tamper with my Pensieve whilst we are inside of it.”  

Thinking of the formidable nurse who had thrown him out of the ward before, Theseus couldn’t help but agree that the woman probably wouldn’t appreciate strange magical artefacts appearing unannounced in her ward. He nodded and waved a hand toward the still-swirling surface of the Pensieve. “Well, shall we get on with this then?”

Dumbledore nodded before spearing Theseus with a stern, assessing look. “Whatever you witness in there Theseus, do try to bear in mind that I only have Newt’s best interests at heart and that I never intended for things to escalate as far as they did.”   

Theseus eyed Dumbledore with an equally gauging look for several seconds before nodding briefly – Dumbledore’s words seemed to heavily imply that he knew there would be things lying within Newt’s memories that might incriminate him. Or at the very least, cast him in a dubious or undesirable light. Theseus had already expected as much however so decided not to remark upon his doubts. Fixing one another with one final, calculating look, they both reached down to touch a hand the surface of the swirling silver substance in the basin before being submerged completely and drawn into Newt’s memories.

The ward gave an almighty lurch around him; Theseus was thrown forwards and pitched headfirst into the basin, he fell through the customary icy whirlpool of darkness that he came to expect with entering another’s memories and suddenly he was standing in Newt’s house.

He followed the past-Newt as he investigated his ransacked home, keeping pace with him as he found his unconscious assistant and wincing at the following duel with Abernathy. Newt had undoubtedly been capable enough to defeat the American wizard but the lucky shot the ex-MACUSA employee got in and a familiar hurling spell had been enough to throw Newt off balance. And over a bannister.  

He had found himself gratified with his brother’s instincts as he apparated the hell out of there, hiding his case as he did so, but felt equally exasperated as Newt escaped to an abandoned area of the tube tunnels instead of somewhere safe, like outside the Ministry – where there would have been plenty of Aurors nearby to assist him. At the same time though, he appreciated that in such situations, thinking logically was not always an easy thing to do… or maybe Newt had just not wanted to risk anyone else being caught in a crossfire. He could only imagine Newt’s apprehension and shock as Grindelwald apparated and cornered him because there was only the barest trace of it upon his younger brother’s face. Theseus found himself swelling slightly with pride at how well Newt handled himself – he could think of several senior Aurors who would have baulked and panicked wildly at being faced alone with Gellert Grindelwald himself.

Hearing Grindelwald’s mocking, threatening words to Newt about seeking refuge with Theseus made the wizard’s hand clench at the thought of such an escape being torn away. It was difficult to watch the brief duel that ensued – knowing how it would ultimately end and for as heartening as it was to see Newt try so hard, it made it twice as crushing to see when he was thrown back into the shield, then brought to his knees, bound and disarmed.

The words that Grindelwald spoke to Newt only served to infuriate Theseus further – taunting him and turning some of the last words that Theseus had spoken to his brother against him. About not choosing sides. That decision had been made for Newt right then and there without him ever having resolved the matter for himself. Theseus knew that Newt had not ever supported Grindelwald’s fanatical crusade – he just hadn’t wanted to become involved in the conflict. Whilst Newt’s obstinacy had frustrated him, he had been also secretly glad that the passivist magizoologist had stuck to his principles and tried to keep out of the oncoming war. It only served as a deeper blow when that choice was then wrenched from Newt, however.

The memory ran smoothly onto the vault Newt had been held in in the depths of the Ministry, seeing Grindelwald sealing the room and proceeding to cast the Cruciatus curse upon him made Theseus flinch violently as the screams echoed in the space. Though he doubted Newt realised it, the spell went on for nearly ten minutes – much longer than most rational witches or wizards would inflict. It was usually used as a brief, intense punishment – not as a sustained cruelty such as Grindelwald used it. He was impressed when after that, Newt pushed himself back onto his knees, breaking his habit of avoiding eye contact as he glared up at the dark wizard with watery Scamander-blue eyes.

Grindelwald’s gloating, expositive words blurred together in Theseus’ attentions as he had already guessed the details that they revealed about the wizard’s escape and Abernathy’s involvement. Newt’s questioning of why Grindelwald had captured him caught the Auror’s attention, however, as whilst he had his suspicions of course, he was still curious to see how the European wizard justified his interest in someone like Newt.  

 _"You are by far one of the most intriguing individuals I have come across in quite some time, Mr Scamander. A man with a seemingly strict moral code of not involving himself in the affairs of others unless his collection of magical creatures is at risk… yet has repeatedly seemed to find himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Albus Dumbledore shows favour for you and sent_ you _above many more talented witches or wizards to do his bidding. It was only_ you _who figured out my true identity. Even Credence seemed to see something within you worthy of trusting over me, after only a few minutes of meeting you …You are an enigma, Mr Scamander. One that I intend to unravel."_

The speech both confirmed Theseus’ fears and reminded him of his fellow witness to Newt’s memories as Dumbledore’s name was mentioned with such fervency by the dark wizard. He glanced across to where the teacher was regarding the memory versions of Newt and Grindelwald with an indiscernible look on his bearded face. Dumbledore was currently doing a commendable job of maintaining his usual calm, untouchable demeanour but even Theseus could see the tension in the man’s posture that hinted to a deeper concern.

Newt’s rather in character, though shakily voiced reply prompted a stream of Grindelwald’s equally ubiquitous nonsense about subjugating Muggles, the ‘natural order of things’ and the superiority of pure-blooded wizards. Theseus was decidedly unsurprised as this prompted an indignant, incensed response from Newt, but part of Grindelwald’s retort did catch Theseus’ attention. _"Or was it Dumbledore who has been dripping these lies in your ear? He always did have a way of convincing those around him to believe as he does, whilst making them believe it's of their own volition. A true manipulator through and through."_

The arguable accuracy of the words caused an uncomfortable squirming sensation in his stomach that had him glancing over at the man in question. Dumbledore’s lips were pressed in a thin, purposefully blank line but his bright blue eyes were swirling with that indefinable combination of emotions again. Hearing his old flame talking about him in such blunt, cynical, manipulative manner must be difficult – especially when it was to a vulnerable version of his favoured ex-student.

Even someone as collected as Albus Dumbledore could not have hoped to have controlled his reaction at the venom and revelation that Newt’s next words contained. _"Or maybe he was just the first person to realise what you were. Maybe he saw the darkness and the madness in you…After what you did to his sister…"_ Dumbledore’s expression was caught somewhere between dread and a hint of gratitude. It was as though while Newt’s reply still obviously brought up unpleasant recollections for him – about something to do with a sister? – he seemed to be grateful to Newt for suggesting that Dumbledore had been aware of Grindelwald’s evil from early on. But the slight sag that weighed down the wizard’s shoulders gave Theseus the itching impression that that gratitude stemmed from a place of self-doubt. Whatever had happened, Theseus got the impression that Dumbledore thought Newt was giving him more credit than he deserved.

Dumbledore’s veins of fear seemed to be justified further by Grindelwald’s violent reaction as he struck Newt with another harsh bout of the Cruciatus curse. If Theseus had thought the last bout was excessive, it was nothing compared to the second – it went on for at least an hour. It could have been longer, but Theseus found that he had lost the ability to focus on the ticking of the pocket-watch at his hip. _He just didn’t stop screaming._

The elder Scamander couldn’t keep his horrified eyes off Newt’s flushed, tear-stained face that was relentlessly twisted in utter agony. His body jerked and writhed in uncontrollable patterns upon the floor and though Theseus was fairly sure that Newt was not aware of it at the time, Grindelwald flicked his free hand at the younger man’s limbs every now and then as the writhing dislocated them. _Left shoulder, right shoulder, left ankle, two fingers and then the right shoulder again._ The pops weren’t audible over Newt’s constant cries, but Theseus saw them and winced as Grindelwald set them back to rights with mere flicks of his hand - not even stopping the spell to do so. It was utterly horrifying to witness and made Grindelwald’s casual cruelty all the more callous as when he finally ended the curse, he threw Newt into the wall into new bindings.   

Theseus was shocked when Newt found both the sense and ability to backtalk the sadistic bastard after enduring what he just had, but at the same time, it was just like his brother to find his off-brand snarkiness at such a time. Brave, reckless idiot that he was.

The following summarisation from Grindelwald of what had happened to Dumbledore’s sister – Ariana apparently – threw the situation into better clarity for Theseus but also seemed to distress the present Dumbledore further. He got the feeling that either what Grindelwald was saying was a skewed version of what had happened, or it was painfully accurate – either way, he could see tears glistening, repressed in the elder’s eyes.

The memory continued regardless of its witness’ reactions and Theseus felt additional stabs of pride at Newt’s resilience as he refused Grindelwald’s no-doubt tempting offers of a better world for him and his magical creatures. He had heard similar promises at the circus rally in Paris so was not particularly surprised by the offer or Newt’s refusal. Witnessing the creation and application of that vile metal muzzle was enough to have Theseus’ fists clenching tight and rage curling deep in his stomach. The faint tendrils of smoke that wafted from where the metal touched Newt’s face, smelling the scent of burning flesh so freshly and seeing how hard Newt struggled to be rid of his bonds and the device over the next few _hours_ – even at the blurred pace they came at … it was sickening.

He could tell that Dumbledore was directing the flow and pace of the memories again now – speeding through the inactive or uneventful hours before Grindelwald reappeared. Neither of them wanted to witness every second of Newt’s suffering in real-time pacing – they were only doing this to gather the relevant information so that they could both help Newt and suss out Grindelwald. When the aforementioned wizard returned to the cell, the memories slowed down once more, and Theseus skated with only a half-focussed ear upon the discussion of loyalty until Grindelwald lunged forward and gripped Newt harshly by his hair and began branding in the symbol of the Deathly Hallows into his upper chest. Even in the retrospective participation of the memory, both watching wizards could feel the dark magic that seeped into the wounds, the blackened lines radiating cold power that set the hairs on Theseus’ neck standing erect. He noticed that Dumbledore’s hand went to touch something within his inner pocket as he watched, and a slight frown crossed his face – as if he was reconsidering something.   

Whilst the subsequent ramblings on about fairy-tale theory and the existence of the Hallows meant very little to Theseus, he noted offhandedly that it seemed to pique Dumbledore’s interest. Especially when Grindelwald mentioned his ideas concerning ‘perception’ and Newt’s apparent relevance to the symbol because of his own talents. It thoroughly off-put Theseus however when Grindelwald began caressing Newt’s face and referring to the burnt scar as a “gift” – of all the bloody ridiculous, deranged notions! And then confessing to Newt of his… intimate affections for Dumbledore… it was all far too overly-familiar for Theseus’ liking. Especially when put in the context of a sadistic madman who was torturing his little brother.

He was forced to endure multiple more bouts of the Cruciatus curse that the watching wizards blurred through, as did Newt’s perception of time. The repulsively, paradoxically warm words and soothing gestures Grindelwald then treated Newt with gave Theseus a better idea of why Newt now responded so badly to any attempts at affection – any memories of caring manners had likely been tainted by such contradictory behaviour.

Events he had been partially witness to, began to slot into place as Queenie attempted to contact Newt and he saw the effects of what she had rather accurately referred to as “nearly frying his brain” as Newt hunched in agony and clutched at his skull. Theseus was unnerved to see what Newt had not seemed to, as genuine seeming concern flashed across Grindelwald’s face and he seemed to panic slightly, clutching Newt’s hands to stop him from hurting himself, calling his name almost frantically. That was before realisation dawned on Grindelwald’s face and he set his wand to Newt’s temple, cutting off the connection abruptly and then performing a more permanent Occlumency barrier around Newt’s mind after he begged for the lives of his friends. It was sick.   

Theseus fought the rather absurd urge to pout as when Newt vomited it did not go all over the dark wizard – it would have been some tiny, insignificant recompense for what Grindelwald had done thus far, even as ridiculous as it seemed. The continued unhealthily affectionate behaviour Grindelwald treated Newt with wiped any humorous images out of Theseus’ head however and he and Dumbledore exchanged a disturbed look at the gentle, patient water feeding that ensued.  

Time blurred together again for more hours as Newt slept before he was awoken cruelly by magical shocks that caused him to go into new types of spasms altogether – likely the cause of Newt’s persistent heart problems. More manipulative spiel from Grindelwald followed and the pride swelled again as Newt continued to see through the bullshit the dark wizard was spewing and kept up his acerbic humour and sarcasm. But then something changed, the memory took on an odd slightly silver tint and Theseus looked to Dumbledore in confusion – wondering what he was doing, but the elder wizard looked equally as perplexed. The images in front of them began spinning slightly, the silver tint brightening but the words remaining equally as clear as before. They could both hear the apparent truth being coaxed from Newt’s lips but whatever was happening was distorting the view around them and Theseus was more preoccupied with the strangeness until he heard words that piqued his interest once more. " _Dumbledore… he… he showed m-me some of his memories of … you… he wanted me to be prepared… just in case I ever got involved-… he wanted me to… t-to use my… s-skills as an observer of living t-things."_   

Theseus turned an accusatory gaze towards Dumbledore; furious at the confirmation of his suspicions that the man had practically thrown Newt under the proverbial bus. The professor had used his natural charisma and position of influence on a vulnerable young Newt to prepare him to fight his battles for him!  He had placed the empathic boy on a path from which he wouldn’t willingly diverge – Newt had always been one to help those who placed faith in him, and Dumbledore had exploited that.

His glare sharpened as he regarded Dumbledore but gritted his teeth hard and clenched his jaw to repress the furious tirade he wished to spill at the other man. He would save it for when there weren’t more pressing issues to witness… such as the astoundingly brutal fashion in which Grindelwald broke apart his little brother’s limbs like twigs. As unacceptable as Dumbledore’s actions may seem, they wer _e nothi_ ng in comparison to what hi _s psychotic ex-boyfriend_ was capable of. Maybe they made a better pair than anyone had originally thought. Both seemed to have a shocking propensity for causing his poor little idiot of a Newt to suffer.     

The silver-tone faded with Newt’s awareness and time skipped forward again, briefly slowing when Newt awoke to Grindelwald healing some of his shattered limbs, the conversation blurred until Theseus heard mention of Credence. It had apparently been Newt’s memories that had informed Grindelwald of Credence’s survival – he hadn’t surrendered them because of torture as Theseus had assumed, but because the bastard had essentially raped his mind in his unconsciousness. It was conflictingly yet another source of anger for Theseus as well as pride – Newt had been stronger than he gave him credit for.

He was further stunned as Newt proceeded to stand upon his broken limbs and release a verbal tirade upon his captor in what was one of the most impressive feats he had ever seen. Theseus was certain that had he been in Newt’s position he would not have been able or willing to perform such an accomplishment. But it was wrenching to hear Newt’s bitter, challenging words when he spoke of leaving him there “to rot.” Despite Newt’s recent assurances that he did not want to end his life, Theseus was reminded jarringly of when he had admitted to almost letting go a few times before – had this been such an instance or were there more?  

Grindelwald’s reaction of binding Newt again violently left Theseus in no doubt as to what was coming next. This scene, he knew – had witnessed most of it. The circus rally in Paris. He was forced to endure the sight of Newt being manipulated, tossed about, shocked and lashed with the horrible knowledge of how the incident would end. But now he had the confirmation of his assumptions that Newt had not realised his brother’s presence until he came forward and that he had been more focussed upon getting Credence away from Grindelwald – even in the sorry state he was in at the time.

The recollections turned fuzzy after Theseus’ deflected spell hit him and the images blurred once more, even as Newt was conscious of retrieving the blood-binding pendant and leaving it for his brother to find. Theseus’ guilt and fury ridden gaze strayed to Dumbledore once more at the sight of the silvery charm and saw the gratitude that resided in his bright blue eyes as he watched the past-Newt struggle through his pain to give his friends a chance to defeat Grindelwald. To give Dumbledore a chance to fight back. There were invading traces of images attached to Newt’s memory when his fingers brushed the pendant for the first time and Theseus heard a sharp intake of breath come from Dumbledore. The traces of the blood bonds initiation seemed to surprise Dumbledore and he spoke quietly for the first time since they entered the memories. “Curious, but why...”  

Theseus was tempted to ask what the other wizard found so interesting but was distracted as the memories blurred forward once more. More time was lost as Newt lost his grip on reality - memories flickering in and out of comprehension for hours as he succumbed to his wounds, exhaustion and a sleeping spell that left a hazy shimmer over the memories. When Newt’s recollections next gained clarity, Theseus was appalled though not entirely surprised to see that Grindelwald had stripped his little brother down to his undergarments – perverted bastard that the dark wizard was and placed him in a bed with rudimentary efforts to patch him up. The half-hearted attempts at care disturbed Theseus almost as much as the undressed state of his brother did – the idea that Grindelwald was trying to enforce compassionate behaviours upon him… it just seemed wrong.

Newt’s attempts at acerbic humour and defiance bolstered Theseus’s sense of pride and even made a small smile twitch his lips _"I don't know if you expected me to swear fealty to you and start parading around the streets of Paris singing about freedom and tyranny, but I'm afraid that I have to inform you it’s not going to happen."_   Newt actually had a decent singing voice when he was younger – Theseus had even encouraged him to join the Hogwarts choir a few times, but the shy youth had always made excuses and avoided the subject. It had been a shame, but Theseus had not forced the issue – accepting his adolescent brother’s reluctance to interact with others socially as a lost cause. The strained, mild amusement and reminiscence was stripped from Theseus however when Grindelwald began getting far too close to Newt upon the bed for his comfort.          

The speech Grindelwald made concerning the perceived similarities between Credence, himself and Newt unnerved Theseus further as did Dumbledore’s definite reaction to the words. He seemed to understand something deeper in them that concerned him and creased his brows more dramatically than before. The options that Grindelwald proceeded to present Newt with – though Theseus knew none had ended up being enacted – still twisted his insides to see the pain they caused his brother. Theseus was unsure if the German had suggested such scenarios because he had genuinely considered them to be his plans at the time or if he had just been playing with Newt – testing him, but either way, the reaction they drew from the younger man was still pitiful.

The intensifying of Grindelwald’s affectionate touches and his fervent words only served to further the pit of fury, horror and revulsion gnawing away at Theseus’ insides for what his little brother had endured. The idea that the dark wizard would dare try to pretend he cared for Newt after what he had done – what he _was_. The man didn’t even deserve that title anymore for he certainly wasn’t human. Dumbledore seemed more disturbed by Grindelwald’s words than his actions however as Grindelwald spoke of exploiting Newt’s vulnerability for his own ends. It was despicable in itself but again, Theseus could tell that the elder wizard was gleaning more meaning from the words than he was. Past-Newt pushed himself further than Theseus had thought possible as he stood to challenge Grindelwald – clearly attempting to provoke a violent reaction from. He found himself muttering Newt’s name over and over, interspersed with soft, futile pleas for Newt not to do what Theseus knew he was doing. “Newt, no, don’t do it, Newt, please, idiot, come on, don’t do it…”

His pleas went unanswered of course, as Grindelwald unleashed the most violent, unadulterated stream of magical attacks Theseus had likely ever witnessed upon his already weakened little brother. Newt’s memory of the following minutes was a blur of flashes, darkness and his screams. He had come _so close_ to dying. It was only Grindelwald’s barely-registered attempts to revive and partially heal Newt that prevented the first heart attack from taking him. Both watching wizards were consumed along with Newt into the still blackness of almost death and Theseus couldn’t help but find himself _bloody terrified_ of how close a call it had been. Theseus found himself for once agreeing with Grindelwald as the wizard hissed at Newt what a stupid thing he had done.

He had tried to goad Grindelwald into ending his life rather than risking having to hurt his mentor.

Theseus was both relieved and unsurprised to see a silent line of tears streaming down Dumbledore’s weary face. The relief stemmed from the realisation that the man was not as unaffected by Newt’s loyalty as he seemed to be otherwise. His lack of surprise came from the fact that he doubted even the most hardened individuals would have unaffected by such an act of pure heart and faith. His stupid little brother was far too good to be trapped in such a vile web of memories. It was the cruellest of jokes for the world to play upon him – to have his eternally capable heart trodden upon in so many different ways by such a vile person.  

Theseus was genuinely shocked when the memory continued and revealed that Grindelwald had used the Imperius curse upon Newt. Now he knew that two of the three unforgivable curses had been used on his brother he could only feel some distant trace of relief that the dark wizard hadn’t resorted to using the third and final. That was almost of no comfort to him however as he watched Newt being forced to hurt himself further by stripping his remaining layers of protection and then seeing Grindelwald paw over his immobilised, curse-trapped little brother in a revoltingly intimate manner. Newt’s tears cut Theseus to the quick – he could only imagine how much Newt must have hated his helplessness as Grindelwald touched him and Theseus found the urge to hex something rise violently up within him as he was forced to witness the truths that were ripped from Newt’s unwilling lips.  

Hearing the unnaturally blank voice that only vaguely resembled Newt’s recount the story of how the belt-scar on his neck had occurred caused tears to build, pressing behind Theseus’ own eyes. The fact that the humiliating, intimate details of their shared childhood had been forced from Newt for some twisted game to amuse Grindelwald – it was deplorable. It seemed that the dark wizard’s depravity knew no bounds.  

Nor did his lack of shame apparently, as he went on to verbally assault Newt on his opinion of Dumbledore. Theseus found himself watching the wizard in question out of the corner of his eye – gauging his reaction to Newt’s rather startling response. _"I trust that he would never purposefully do anything to hurt anyone unless he had no other choice. Further than that, I would say that I trusted him, with reservations - a man as evasive as he is unwise to trust implicitly…I consider him to be a friend and a mentor, but not anything more…I f-find him an a-attractive man, but my attentions lie e-elsewhere."_  

Dumbledore’s reaction was fairly mediated, disregarding the drying tear tracks still glistening on his cheeks until the mention of being found “attractive” came up and then an odd look crossed his face, a very slight blush colouring it as he glanced sideways at Theseus in a way that, had it not been Dumbledore who was standing beside him, Theseus might have pegged as awkward. Somehow the elder wizard even managed to make his discomfort seem calculated. Theseus found himself distantly intrigued by the mention of Newt’s attentions lying elsewhere, however – was he referring to Leta? Or had someone else caught his brother’s eye? He knew that Newt had had a shine for Tina and felt guilt roll his stomach as he thought of how…um close he and Tina had become over the past couple of weeks.

That wasn’t relevant right now and Theseus forced his attention back to the immensely satisfying sight of his little brother breaking through the fog of the Imperius curse and hexing the malicious bastard tormenting him right in the face. Theseus felt the rather absurd desire to cheer as Newt managed to temporarily incapacitate Grindelwald and escape into the corridor, even as the satisfaction he felt was tainted by the fact he knew that Newt _hadn’t_ escaped. It didn’t stop him from being any less proud of Newt for continuing to fight Grindelwald however he could. It was crushing to witness how his efforts were thwarted by the anti-apparition charms around Nurmengard and Theseus was admittedly impressed when he saw the extent of the damage Newt’s hex had done to Grindelwald’s eye.

He could often forget what Newt was capable of when placed into a difficult spot – when pushed to his limits. Theseus had only seen it a few very rare times in his own experience and there had unfailingly been a threatened or abused creature involved. Those times when Newt had been brought into the Ministry for questioning concerning the theft of a creature from a private collector and the consequent injuries that sometimes occurred to the abusive wizards involved. It was somewhat more satisfying and less aggravating for Theseus to witness Newt using his skills against someone who sorely deserved much worse.

The following hours that blurred past were the result of further magic on Grindelwald’s part as the darkness that briefly surrounded them shimmered in the familiar way of a sleeping spell. The dinner with Grindelwald shocked Theseus just as much as it had Newt as he saw Queenie Goldstein sitting at the table as a guest. Dumbledore, however, did not seem phased at all and he supposed that the American witch had confided in him when she ended up in his house. He was shocked that the Legilimens had been considering joining Grindelwald’s ranks – that she had been willingly responsible for Abernathy’s escape. _Of course,_ Newt, with his bleeding heart had not condemned her foolish decisions and Theseus was wholly unsurprised to see how Newt tried to verbally defend and console her even with the state he was in.

He _was_ surprised to see the casual, easy seeming way in which Grindelwald had dismissed Queenie and it made his Auror’s instincts prick up – was there some other reason why he had released her? Maybe she was secretly still in cahoots with him. Theseus intended to have a long, _thorough_ discussion with Tina’s younger sister later. He didn’t want to think the worst of the sweet, bubbly seeming woman, but he wasn’t willing to take the risk that she might cause further harm to Newt or Tina by helping Grindelwald in any way.

Theseus’ knuckles cracked as his fists clenched while he watched Grindelwald demean Newt further by force-feeding him, simultaneously reminding Theseus that this was the first time since Newt’s memories began that the young man had eaten anything. He made a mental note to himself to personally ensure Newt ate his full three meals every day from now on with no bloody arguments. The invasion of Newt’s thoughts during their bizarre dinner conversation came as another act of defilement – the way that Newt had become accustomed to Grindelwald’s presence in his mind unnerved Theseus more than he cared to admit. The taunts concerning their family cast Newt’s most recent despair into clearer light as Grindelwald spoke those horrifying, appalling _vile_ words. _"I found your wretch of a father, in some backend bar in the pits of London and I_ skinned _him…I butchered him like the vermin he was. I'm sure that no other – certainly not Albus or our dear Percy - has ever made such a gesture. To demonstrate an act of pure affection just for you – to free you and avenge you of a man who hurt you so… I did it just for you, Liebling."_  

Theseus shared Newt’s reaction as revulsion and horror clogged his throat and turned his stomach – the only thing that stopped him from joining the memory of his brother in relieving his stomach’s contents was the unsureness he held around what would happen should he vomit whilst inside the Pensieve. It was a very close call however as he pressed a shaking, horrified hand to his mouth, gagging and feeling the tears finally fall down his face. What in the name of Merlin, Mercy and _God_ could Grindelwald have been thinking when he decided to butcher their father and _feed him_ to Newt?

No wonder his poor little brother had been struggling so. No wonder he had had such a violent reaction to the stew Tina had brought. So many things were now clicking into place and Theseus could now fully understand why the explanation Newt had given him had affected him so. He must have been so brave to will out his trauma to tell Theseus what had happened. _Poor bastard, poor, unjustly abused thing._            

And then, after that _atrocity_ , Grindelwald had had the tactless, self-serving audacity to use his vile actions to try to convince Newt that he belonged in his service. That he somehow thought Newt would agree to join him after _that_. The fucker was more deranged than he had ever realised. There had been a part of Theseus that had thought Grindelwald had been messing around with Newt’s emotions and mind in just a sadistic, elaborate attempt to punish him for his defiance and interference in New York. But now he realised that there was a genuine obsession in his actions – Theseus had never seen such unhealthy mania even in all his years as an Auror. Even Dumbledore was looking distinctly disturbed by this point – pale and trembling slightly.

But even the extensive torture, the manipulations and the forced act of familial cannibalism paled in comparison to the events of what Theseus realised must have been mere minutes before he arrived in Nurmengard and he cursed himself for having waited to Grindelwald’s arbitrary fucking deadline. Why _the hell_ hadn’t he just gone in there and killed the bastard whilst he was too preoccupied with molesting Theseus’ little brother?! He would have given anything to have not had Newt endure what followed. Would have given anything to _scrub_ the images and sounds from his blistered mind.

But that wasn’t what had happened.     

Instead, the watching wizards were forced to endure what Theseus was sure was only the beginning of what Grindelwald had intended had his brave little brother not fought back and simultaneously reminded him of the imminent arrival of Dumbledore. The enacted and attempted violation was appalling enough in itself but combined with Grindelwald’s absolutely _abhorrent_ attempts to traumatise Newt further by using the faces of Dumbledore and Graves… Theseus had no words to describe the full extent of his rage, revulsion and horror. And the words he was spewing while did so – true or not, Theseus neither knew nor much cared to know – were indescribably cruel. The evil fucker had tried to rape Newt using the faces of his friends and concurrently raping his mind as he did so.

Grindelwald had just released and levitated Newt when there was an almighty wrench that jerked Theseus by the arm and flipped his feet out from under him as the memory suddenly flew away. Or rather, _he_ did. He gasped for air, leaning heavily against the metal hospital bed-frame as he broke the surface of the Pensieve. He didn’t register his surroundings properly before he was heaving onto the tiled floor beside him, the repressed nausea within him spewing forth as he now had a safe outlet.  

He was going to find Grindelwald and he was going to skin him. Do _just a little_ of what the psychotic, _perverted_ little shit had done to Theseus’ family right back to him. Ministry and his position be damned! Morals be damned! Grindelwald needed to pay for his actions with more than just being locked up. He deserved to die. And painfully so.

So much of Newt’s behaviour was now making sense – the skittishness around Graves, the reactions to the German nurse’s words about “pets”, the stew, the nightmares, the panic and heart attacks…. Theseus was honestly shocked and proud that Newt was coping as well as he was. His brave, _brave_ little brother. Theseus was certain that had he been in Newt’s position he would have utterly broken by now. Strength and anyone else be damned, he would have done just what he had feared Newt had attempted. He would have jumped.  

Theseus straightened as the last of the heaving left his body shaking and he looked over to the slumbering, contradictorily peaceful in the bed across the room. He could only watch in utter awe of his stupid, brave little Newt. When the hell had he gotten to be so strong?  The elder Scamander was distracted from his hollow minded contemplation by the sounds of gasping, desperate breaths coming from behind him. As he turned, he was met with the most shocking sight he could have ever imagined. Dumbledore was slumped on the floor, back against the wall and one shaking hand pressed to his forehead as tears streamed unrestrainedly down his face. His grey three-piece suit was rumpled, and the man was shuddering in time with quiet sobs, weary-looking face crumpled in agony and bright blue eyes haunted and guilt-ridden.    

He looked the epitome of a man who had finally been pushed and pushed and _pushed_ much too far, by more strain and for much longer than anyone could bear.

Even the greatest wizard in the world – even the great Albus Dumbledore had his limits. Had Theseus not just experienced the same horrors that Dumbledore had he would have been more startled by the out of character crack in his calm, omniscient demeanour. But having seen just that and realising how much more meaning the events had for the elder wizard on personal levels… he would have certainly condemned the man to be almost as much of a monster as Grindelwald had he not reacted in such a way.

Having realized how much of what had happened to Newt could be directly blameable upon Dumbledore – or at least certainly through Grindelwald’s twisting reasoning – Theseus felt his rage, disgust and need for an outlet overwhelm him. In that one moment, every atrocity that he had just witnessed and the uncontrollable mess of roiling emotion with Theseus prompted him to take it out on the nearest available source.

One that just happened to be almost entirely to blame for the whole blasted situation.  

And that was why he punched Dumbledore in the face as he rose to stand. The man jerked back into the wall with the surprise and pain of the blow, keeping his feet but looking decidedly accepting of it. Theseus glared at him for several seconds, breathing heavily, hand twitching towards his wand before thinking better of it and stalking from the ward.

Leaving Albus Dumbledore nursing a clearly broken, bleeding nose.

**A/N – Um…. sorry folks?**


	5. Chapter 5

**“And in your heart, you know it to be true, you know what you got to do, they all depend on you. And you already know, yeah, you already know how this will end.**

**There is no escape from the slave catcher's songs, for all of the loved ones gone, forever's not so long.**

**And in your soul, they poked a million holes, but you never let them show, come on, it's time to go**

**Now you've seen his face and you know there's a place in the sun for all that you've done…No longer shall you need, you always wanted to believe, just ask and you'll receive, beyond your wildest dreams and you already know, Yeah, you already know how this will end.” – ‘How it ends’ – Devotchka**

Grindelwald looked bored.

His face was sharp-featured and pale as it ever was but there was a kind of feral hunger in it that touched over everything in the empty cell with a tireless curiosity. It was a look of a man who had exhausted himself to the idea of his own idleness - the mismatched eyes were so fixed to his surroundings that nothing escaped them. Seeking something, _anything_ that would alleviate his sense of ennui. That curiosity, of course, fixed upon Newt the second he found himself back in the cell in Nurmengard. Whilst he appreciated Dumbledore’s intentions to spare him having to anxiously wait out his and Theseus’ return in the hospital, sending him to sleep had not prevented that – merely meant that he had an unwanted companion as he did so.

Newt settled into his corner, hunkering down as usual in an attempt to preserve whatever warmth he could, head back against the wall and gaze fixed upon the dark stones beneath him. He couldn’t help but fidget nervously however as he thought of just what Albus and Theseus were currently witnessing. Bringing up the memories in order to transfer them had been bad enough but knowing that his mentor and brother were now reviewing them for themselves… it was nerve-wracking to imagine the effects that the recollections might have on either. He couldn’t imagine that Theseus would react well at all – likely would turn his emotions to rage if experience was anything to go by and Newt could only hope that he didn’t do anything stupid. But Dumbledore… Newt wasn’t sure exactly how he would react other than the guilty feeling that his friend would have to witness Grindelwald’s unfair, dreadful words and insinuations for himself. Newt did not blame Albus for Grindelwald’s actions and he hoped that his friend would realise that.

Grindelwald was not actively keeping Newt from resting this time – he couldn’t feel the other wizard’s presence pressing down upon him as would usually be the case, but neither could Newt find himself able to relax. The gaze he was being fixed with made him fidget even more in discomfort, picking at the bandages around his broken fingers until the edges were frayed and the digits had begun to throb. He wasn’t sure if he was just picking at bandages he had projected onto his imagined self in the cell or if there would be physical consequences in the real world so forced himself to stop after a while. Instead resorting to tapping his bare feet restlessly against the floor and awkwardly pulling at the sleeves of the night-shirt he wore. Doing anything to avoid the temptation to give Grindelwald any of the attention he was seeking in his boredom as the wizard began to pace leisurely around the cell – getting closer to Newt’s corner with every lap. He was goading him.

Newt ignored him, pressing his head back against the wall behind him, sighing and closing his eyes. He wished that Dumbledore hadn’t put him under a sleeping spell – at least the ward would have been quiet and peaceful. Free of sinister and invasive wizards. He wasn’t sure what alerted him to the sudden proximity but whatever it was prompted Newt’s blue eyes to fly open to see Grindelwald sitting cross-legged mere inches away from him. He could feel no heat or breath from the other man as the non-corporeal presence he held apparently could not contact Grindelwald on a physical level, even if he could sense his surroundings. The young magizoologist found it odd that the connection worked in such vague terms, but not having any basis of what to expect from such occurrences as mentally projected images caused by a supposedly impossible blood-pact presence within him, Newt was just content with the fact that Grindelwald couldn’t inflict his presence upon him anymore more than he already was. _He can’t touch you again._

He diverted his gaze back down, focussing instead on his hands that fiddled restlessly upon the tops of his drawn-up knees, trying his best to avoid Grindelwald’s oddly patient eyes. Maybe if he ignored him for long enough the man would just give up? Though come to think of it, he realized that the dark wizard in question had waited for weeks in MACUSA’s cells before making his switch with Abernathy. Newt doubted that barely over a week or so in _this_ cell would be enough to erode Grindelwald’s eternal seeming capacity to do anything for what he wanted. He was capable of being patient if he wanted something and right now, he had nothing but time.

Newt begrudgingly raised his head to meet Grindelwald’s unnervingly close stare, the elder wizard seemed to be pleased by the action and Newt inwardly cursed himself for doing anything he wanted. It was rather inevitable though. It didn’t seem like Grindelwald had any intention of halting these invasions into Newt’s sleep any time soon – it wasn’t like the wizard had anything else to do with his time other than hound Newt further. The young magizoologist was almost tempted to ask Albus if he would supply Grindelwald with some books or something; anything to keep him occupied.

Newt’s natural nervousness took over as Grindelwald continued to stare silently at him and he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. “D-did you ever have any interest in magical creatures?”

Grindelwald’s pale brows rose impressively, a bemused smirk flickered across his lips and he inclined his head slightly to the side as if in a noncommittal gesture. Newt realised how stupid and pointless attempting to converse with the bound man was – Albus had assured him that he had rendered Grindelwald mute for his sake. But he found himself needing to fill the awkward, empty silence that spread in the little space between them and so continued to ramble on, voice soft, stuttering slightly and eyes fixed upon the other’s shoulder. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve considered them as far as they could be useful to you – most of the wizarding community are the same. Like with Demiguise and the value of their hides or with Murtlap and the medicinal properties of their tentacles. People either see them as pets or as parts for the most part. But I can’t imagine you ever had any pets or familiars…”

Newt’s ramblings petered off as he saw Grindelwald’s expression change from bemusement to almost genuine seeming amusement. He hadn’t meant to ramble on so, but the intense stare at such quarters had made feel him an irresistible urge to end the silence and talking about creatures was usually his default topic. One that felt comfortable even if it often provoked unpredictable reactions from whomever he was speaking with – the most common being that they either got annoyed or bored. Grindelwald seemed to be neither, though that was probably because this was the first conversation he had been presented with in some time.

Newt felt a twinge in the weight of the bond that told him Grindelwald wished to contradict his assumptions and his surprised gaze flickered up to meet the elder’s once more. “You had a pet or f-familiar then?

Grindelwald inclined his head again, this time in assent and Newt felt images press against his mind – showing him glimpses of a baby Chupacabra cast in a slightly fond glow from the dark wizard’s memories. Newt, surprised by the idea that Grindelwald had ever cared - even a little – for a creature, took a grasp of the memory without entirely meaning to and got a further shock when he found the images gain clarity and context. The infant lizard-like blue creature had been part of the security measures that MACUSA had enforced around Grindelwald and it seemed that the wizard had then befriended him. There were weeks of memories of Grindelwald silently gaining the creature’s trust by casting out his naturally powerful and charismatic aura that attracted the Chupacabra – Antonio apparently.

Newt knew that Chupacabra were often considered to be evil by most, as they fed upon blood and were attracted to powerful magical auras – especially dark ones. However, as with most conceptions about dangerous creatures – the Chupacabra was not malevolent in its nature, in fact, they were loyal and fiercely protective – much like the Occamy. That was why when he saw that even after gaining the creature’s trust and forming an odd sort of bond with him, it horrified him all the more when he saw Grindelwald throw Antonio from the carriage window during his escape. There had been no reason to the act of cruelty, the Chupacabra had been affectionate towards Grindelwald and he had still discarded him like it was nothing!       

Newt jerked back out of Grindelwald’s recollections and stood abruptly, stepping clumsily around the sat wizard and pacing to the other side of the cell. It was no surprise to him that the dark wizard was capable of such cruelty – of course, it wasn’t! But being faced with the abuse and murder of innocent creatures never failed to horrify and enrage him. He glared at the older wizard as Grindelwald turned himself, still cross-legged but looking surprised that Newt had managed to turn the invasiveness of the bond to his advantage – even by accident. He looked like he wanted to say something but obviously knew that he couldn’t, so settled for fixing Newt with an odd, searching look. Newt continued to glare and opened his mouth to offer a rather choice set of words concerning Grindelwald’s treatment of magical creatures before he felt his own body calling him back into consciousness. The cell disappeared from around him and he opened his eyes to see the hospital room once more.

He blinked a few times before sitting up and looking around, almost doing a doubletake when he saw Albus sitting on the vacant bed, head tipped back, and a bloody handkerchief pressed to his nose. He was just lowering his wand from his face with the other hand and the magizoologist could only assume he had been mending a break. Newt just stared for a few seconds before Albus seemed to realise he was awake and lowered his head, swiping once across his nose with the handkerchief before seeming satisfied that the bleeding had stopped. He offered Newt a strained, wry smile.

“Theseus?” Newt ventured, propping himself further against the pillows with frayed bandaged hands. He could only think of one person who would get stupid enough in his anger to break Dumbledore’s nose and, judging from what Newt knew they had seen, he could imagine that Theseus would be pretty angry right about now. When Albus nodded softly, absently pocketing his handkerchief after waving a cleansing hand over it, Newt winced and offered a grimace of his own. “Sorry about that… Thee needs to learn how to control his temper sometime.”

“I’m quite sure I deserved it in all honesty.” He huffed out a dry laugh, brows furrowed as he regarded Newt. “There’s no need for you to apologise, in fact, I rather believe I’m the one who should be offering apologies and thanking you.”

“T-thanking me?” Newt asked, confused. “B-but you saw what happened? All I did was cause you more trouble. I was meant to help you and I just put you in a more difficult situation than before.”      

“Newt, I _never_ meant for you to ever be involved to the extent that you were. At worst I had thought that you would be put in a position where you would be forced to end Gellert yourself… if there was… damage of a collateral nature. As much as I hoped it would not come to even that, I certainly never foresaw Gellert taking such a personal interest in you as he has. It was never my intention for you to be placed in a position where he would subject you to more immorality than I had imagined he was capable of. I owe you more than I could ever begin to express.”

Albus’ gaze was sincere and troubled. The sunlight still filtering through the window having begun to turn burnt orange in the process of it’s setting cast a warm glow across his weary face and the now slightly crooked set of his nose being cast into sharper relief by the drawing shadows. “You showed me true loyalty in the face of the worst horrors imaginable, but what was even more remarkable was that you kept true to yourself. Gellert has always held an astounding capability for empowering people but doing so by bringing out the worst in them. You not only resisted his attempts to proselytise you but also managed to turn his gift upon him. You brought out a weakness in him that I doubt anyone – even I - thought he was capable of possessing anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Newt asked – what could he possibly have brought out in Grindelwald that could be seen as a weakness? The only thing he’d ever seemed to be able to do was infuriate him by getting under his skin when he spoke of Dumbledore. He wasn’t sure how provoking a dark wizard into hurting or nearly killing him was really an advantage.

“It wasn’t just your words and insight concerning myself that provoked Gellert. You may have observed that he is by nature of a cold, imperturbable disposition - honed from years of practice and detachment from any kind of intimacy or affection. That ceases to be the case when it comes to you – though I’m sure you are already aware of his interests in you, you may not have realized quite how significant they are.”

There was that tight feeling constricting Newt’s chest again, pressing at his insides and clouding his mind with a suffocating fog. But he focussed his attention upon breathing _in and out, in and out_ – imagining the feel of his palm flat upon Percival’s sturdy chest and the deep, smooth voice as he did so. Trying to gauge the steady, regular, soothing rhythm and warmth. It helped and Newt found the constriction ease as Dumbledore continued, even as the other’s bright blue eyes were repentant and wary. “He has come to see you as worthy of his affections. Enough so that he does not know how to deal with what he is experiencing and, as is common of any man – but most especially Gellert – he lashed out with more familiar behaviours to him to cope with that uncertainty. Such as brutality and manipulation.”

“Like he did with you, you mean.” Newt’s voice was quiet and steadier than he felt. He didn’t mean the words to sound as accusatory as they did but Albus did not seem phased and inclined his head in Newt’s direction. On some level, Newt had already been aware of what Dumbledore was telling him, but hearing the words spoken aloud made the situation feel somehow more overwhelming. “What does this mean? I mean, is there anything I can do to…um dissuade him.”   

Albus’ grimace was not encouraging “I’m afraid that the presence of the blood-pact within you further complicates matters as it gives him a direct link to you. I hold the same capability, but I promise you that I shall not act upon it lest you allow me to or should there ever arise a dire need. Gellert, however, will not hold such qualms and unfortunately, I am currently unaware of any way to prevent his presence in your sleep. This is untrodden territory in terms of magical experience and therefore is difficult to traverse without risking making matters worse.”

Dumbledore paused and eyed him with hesitant curiously for a few moments before speaking again. “Forgive me, but what exactly have you been seeing in your sleep? I would be able to see it for myself should I tap into the bond-connection but as I said, I do not wish to impede upon your privacy any further than I already have.”   

“It’s alright… I just see Grindelwald in his cell in Nurmengard, he moves around and… watches me a lot but otherwise nothing p-particularly bothersome.” Newt tried to keep his tone flat and casual; there was no point in worrying his friend further by informing him of the new attempts Grindelwald was making to catch his attention. It was only happening because the man was bored.

“He hasn’t spoken to you or attempted to make further contact?” Newt was a bit unnerved by Albus’ uncanny ability to see through his half-truths and evasions but sighed and relented, eyes fixed on his lap.

“Uh, well, I accidentally saw some of his…um memories, just now, before I woke up.” He stumbled over his words a bit as he felt Albus’ gaze on him intensify. “I saw him… k-kill a Chupacabra – it hadn’t done anything _wrong_ and he just _killed_ it. I t-think he was only trying to show me that creature but I… I don’t know, _pushed_ …and I saw every memory he had connected to it. It was like… pushing a domino – I just touched one and they all started falling...”

“The bond works as a connection that is pointed at both ends – much like perception - so it would make sense that you would be able to tap into it when Gellert attempted to open it further. Up until that point he seems to have only opened the connection enough to project himself into your dreams and you in turn into his awareness. I would strongly advise against interacting with him further, however, Newt – the more you allow the bond to be used, the harder it will be for it to be closed or ignored. Gellert has had much more time in close contact with the blood-binding pendant and had better opportunity to study it than I have, so it is likely that he may be more entuned with the bond than I. As the new vessel that also means that Gellert probably holds a more finely tuned link with you as he did with the pendant before. Please do not risk yourself by giving in to the temptation to let him in.”

Newt knew that Dumbledore was right – he shouldn’t be interacting with Grindelwald at all, he should just continue to ignore the man and hope that it might prompt him to eventually stop his invasions into Newt’s mind and sleep. _It’s not likely to happen, but you can hope, can’t you?_ He nodded sombrely and met Albus’ gaze with a trace of his wry humour. “I think it might help if you gave him something to occupy his time with other than me. Maybe a book or something? If that wouldn’t be too dangerous.”

Albus’ brows rose slightly but he let out a light chuckle and nodded. “I suppose a mind as active as his would wonder and wither with no form of stimulation after some time. I often find myself bored stiff after only a few hours of indolence – marking the third years’ papers on Werewolves seems positively dull in comparison to recent events.”

Newt laughed, remembering his attempt on writing about the dangers and physiologies of Werewolves in which he had taken a much more sympathetic view than his classmates. Pointing out the often-overlooked fact that they were just as much people as anyone – cursed with something that was not their fault that only really affected them once a month. In retrospect, the part where he had made the rather poorly-worded comparison to the female menstrual cycle and questioned why women were not treated with such scorn for a similar, though much milder situation. He had not been proposing that women and Werewolves should be treated equally poorly of course, but that both were equally ridiculous concepts of treatment standards by society.

Dumbledore had seemed pleased with his take despite the perhaps poorly chosen comparison and awarded Hufflepuff twenty points for “original and compassionate thinking.” The snubbed Ravenclaws in his class had not seemed to appreciate that at the time but even being magically pelted with chalk from across the classroom had not made him any less proud of the recognition of his work. It had been what prompted him on to later begin his petitioning for Werewolf rights – he had not been successful as of yet, but he was still working at it. Things like this always took time after all.

“Are your students not missing you at the moment?” Newt asked, realizing as he did so that he had no idea what day it was, so was unsure of whether or not Dumbledore should be teaching right now.

“I’m not expected back at work until the day after tomorrow as it is a Saturday, but there are matters which call my attention whilst I am on the continent.” Newt sensed the prompt in Dumbledore’s comment and nodded as the older man stood to rise.

“Thank you, Albus.” It still felt a little odd to call his former professor by his first name but considering everything that had gone on between them over the past twenty years – particularly the last two weeks – Newt knew that it would be rather ridiculous to call him anything else at this point. Not to mention the fact that Albus had asked him to call him by his Christian name on multiple occasions.  

“It is I that should be thanking you, Newt.” He replied firmly as he pulled on his gloves and hat. “Should there be anything you need assistance with, no matter how insignificant you may consider it, don’t hesitate to contact me.” A fond, oddly wistful smile curled his lips for a moment as he added. “Though I’m sure that there are others who would appreciate correspondence from you more than I - even if it may not seem like it sometimes, you have people who care a great deal for you.”    

He tipped his hat politely as he left the ward. “Good afternoon, Newt.”           

Newt sat for several minutes simply staring after him, wondering if the elder wizard had meant what he thought he had. Eventually, he shook himself out of his haze and reached across to the bedside table where a sketchpad lay from when Tina had left it several days before, she had asked Theseus to bring it from Newt’s house when she had seen that Newt and Percival had been sharing one unreadable book between them. He hadn’t done any drawing yet as he had discovered his broken fingers had dissuaded him from holding a pencil at the time, but Newt was fairly confident that they were healed enough now to allow him to write one short letter.

A silver fountain pen lay beside where Newt had left Percival’s note and he picked it up now, pausing for a while before putting pen to paper. As he wrote, messy, sloping scrawl marring the surface of the page with occasional inkblots that smeared against the bandages on his fingers and arm. He realized absently that the pen in his hand must be Percival’s – it had his initials engraved upon it after all ‘P.E.G’. Newt wondered what the ‘E’ stood for and spent a minute or two smiling slightly to himself as he tried to imagine what it could be. Whatever it was, it likely wasn’t as ridiculous as his own middle names – or Theseus’ for that matter. His mother had been the one to name them both and it often made him laugh slightly at the thought that while his mother had been rather quirky in her choices – she had at least named them both equally as ridiculously.

Once he had finished writing, Newt blew on the ink to dry it before tearing the paper out of the sketchbook and folding it in half, scribbling Percival’s name and the address of his office in MACUSA on the outside. He pushed himself off from the bed, hobbling on still weak though definitely stronger legs to the door to the ward. There must be a nurse nearby who could speak enough English so that he could ask where he could find an owl to send his letter. Almost the moment he left the room however, he was met face to face with his brother coming down the corridor back towards his ward.

“Newt! What the hell are you doing out here?” Theseus was abnormally pale, and Newt could see a slight redness forming on his knuckles – likely the result of their contact with poor Albus’ face. Newt held up the letter in a silent explanation and Theseus sighed in apparent exasperation, hand moving to grip his shoulder and trying to guide him back into the ward. Newt jerked back from his grip and fixed his elder brother with an unusually stern gaze through his dishevelled hair. He leant subtly against the wall as his legs stuttered a bit beneath him and he saw Theseus’ eyes dart sharply to follow the movement, clearly not missing his slight falter. 

“Theseus, I think you’ll find that I’m perfectly capable of leaving a room to deliver a letter without any apocalyptic consequences.” Theseus’ brows rose sceptically, and he fixed Newt with a look of annoyance, deeply ingrained concern and a trace of amusement. He could have been wrong, but the younger Scamander could have also sworn that he saw an odd sort of pride there too.

“Newt, please, I’m not the enemy here, in fact, I came back to deliver some news I’m sure you’ll be just thrilled to hear.”  The elder gestured towards the door to the room and Newt stubbornly stayed put, raising his own eyebrows in question and Theseus let out an annoyed huff of air through his nose. “The clinic staff have ‘politely suggested’ that you are well enough to recover outside of their care now and I was coming to collect you and take you home.”

Newt felt a jolt of relief go through him at the thought of going back to familiar surroundings and seeing his creatures again; an eager smile flashing across his face. “Thank Merlin, I don’t think I could stand another minute in here.”

Theseus seemed caught between amusement and concern as he eyed Newt with something new – something that hadn’t been present before he went to sleep…. Oh. Before he had seen Newt’s memories. He had almost forgotten that Theseus had seen them too. His brother must have noticed how pale he suddenly became and placed a reassuring hand on Newt’s shoulder, pulling him forwards into a hug without hesitation. Newt relaxed into the embrace and smiled softly against Theseus’ shoulder. It could have just been him, but this hug felt more like it was for Theseus’ benefit than his own so he gripped back as tightly as his injured arm and chest would allow him to.  

“I’m so sorry, Newt… so, so sorry.” Theseus murmured and the younger froze for a moment as he witnessed the slight catch in his brother’s voice and felt the barely definable tremor of silent sobs against his chest.

He tightened his grip until it became painful for Newt but if Theseus found it uncomfortable, he didn’t give any hint of it and Newt felt his own tears pricking at his eyes, but did not let them fall as he replied, equally as softly. “It’s alright Thee, it's over now. I’m alright.” 

They stood there for an indiscernible amount of time before Theseus’ silent sobs seemed to stop and Newt gently released him, stumbling slightly back into the wall as his legs complained at the movement. Theseus’ hand came up to support him as he faltered, and Newt offered him a brief smile in return.

“Let’s get you home.” 

 **A/N – thank you for the support as ever guys, sorry if this chapter felt a bit off – I still really struggle with writing Dumbledore. There will be more of Percival in the next chapter though, I promise.**       


	6. Chapter 6

**“I would like to leave this city, this old town don't smell too pretty, and I can feel the warning signs running around my mind...**

**So here I go, I'm still scratching around in the same old hole, my body feels young, but my mind is very old. So, what do you say? You can't give me the dreams that are mine anyway, You're half the world away.” – ‘Half the world away’ – Aurora or Oasis (whichever you prefer)**

For the first time in twenty years, Percival found his work to be a chore instead of a solace. Of course, there were parts that he found tedious, but he still attacked them with the same professional and personal passion that he treated the rest with. He filed the necessary extensive reports on his time spent working internationally and his minor role in the capture of Grindelwald by a third party – namely Dumbledore. President Picquery had been decidedly unhappy with the outcome of Grindelwald’s defeat, spending a large amount of time reprimanding Percival for not having demanded that the dark wizard be turned over to the Ministries’ custody. He had tried to enforce his usually calming and rational presence upon her, but he had been too distracted and agitated for it to really have any effect – she had become incensed.

Eventually, the meeting had ended in Percival cutting quite bluntly across her and making the glaringly obvious point that he had had little choice but to let Dumbledore treat Grindelwald however he wished. In the state he had been in, he had had no real say in what the powerful wizard did. He had also quietly pointed out that their security measures had failed rather spectacularly the last time they held Grindelwald, so if anything, they should feel more sated by the idea that a much more capable and knowledgeable wizard had dealt with the situation. Picquery had seemed astonished by the outburst and had Percival felt a little surprised at himself – he wasn’t usually one to defend the actions of vigilantes and Dumbledore’s actions could certainly be counted as just that.

He wasn’t entirely sure what it was about the British wizard that made him demonstrate such defence, but it might _possibly_ have had something to do with the faith that Newt placed in him. The young magizoologist was, in Percival’s experience at least, a decent judge of character and if someone who had been relentlessly traumatised by Grindelwald could trust in the dark wizard’s confinement enough to sleep at night – if however poorly – then Percival could find himself placing trust in him as well.

He was currently sitting in his office at MACUSA, completing yet another page of forms that detailed every move he had made since leaving America to the moment he returned. He skated over the details of exactly _why_ he had stayed in the _Caligari Klinik_ longer than was strictly necessary and put it down to requiring personal physical recovery time. Goldstein had fulfilled his absented duties admirably well, even if the slightly oddball system of her filing left him confused for a day or two. He had made her promotion to Senior Secretary of Magical Law Enforcement a permanent one and in the four days since he had returned, Percival had been continually impressed by her ability to juggle her personal dramas and the new responsibilities of her role. He was aware that there was a rather significant dispute going on between the Goldstein sisters but hadn’t questioned either on it just yet – hadn’t had the time what with the accumulation of his abandoned duties.

The problems in Massachusetts were getting worse as there were almost constant disputes between local fundamentalist No-Maj sects that had taken it upon themselves to root out any wizards or witches in their communities, which constantly unceasingly seemed to end in violence on both sides. Despite repeated warnings from MACUSA for members of the wizarding community to _not_ engage with No-Majs or to obliviate them should any contact occur, the deep-rooted tensions concerning No-Majs just caused more trouble. Some of the groups had now managed to discover a _supposedly_ shielded wizarding village that had attracted the unfortunate nickname of ‘Dogtown’ from locals.

The village’s discovery would not have been such an issue had the idiots who lived there not neglected to obliviate the No-Majs who wandered in – they had then gone running to the nearby No-Maj authorities in Rockport, shouting about witches who dressed women as men and committed unholy rituals. Of course, the claims had not been taken seriously but because of generations of such stories being circulated in the area, the No-Maj population had become increasingly restless and hostile towards anything they perceived to be suspicious, which then led to increased tensions between wizards and No-Majs who were forced to interact.

It was all a goddamn mess that none of them needed on top of the rise in anti-No-Maj factions that had cropped up in the past few years – mostly Grindelwald’s influences leaking over from Europe. It would have been far easier to deal with if they had all been in a shared collective that could be subdued, but instead, there were dozens of smaller groups dotted all over the continental US that seemed to crop up as fast as MACUSA could quell them. It didn’t help Percival that his once-pristine reputation had lost a fair amount of sway it had once had due to Grindelwald’s deception.

Not only had the bastard damaged Graves’ reputation as an incredibly powerful and capable wizard - as someone who was almost untouchable - but it had also corrupted his character in the eyes of people who had been mistreated by Grindelwald under the pretence of being Percival. The dark wizard had broached a number of deals, imprisonments and executions that had been of service to his cause but had been passed off as being justified under the Director of Magical Security’s authority. It still angered him beyond words to think of all that had been done in his name, with his face and with his _own damned wand._ All he could do now was attempt to repair his shattered reputation and try to make amends with those who had been wronged because of his failure.

At the very top of that list stood Newt Scamander. He had felt continual stabs of regret over the past few days for leaving the young man, but he still convinced himself that it was for the best. He wasn’t sure if his note had been a coward’s way out of explaining why he left, but he couldn’t face even imagining the hurt he might have seen in Newt’s painfully pretty eyes. The British Magizoologist had been nearly killed by Grindelwald whilst using Graves’ face in New York and he would be eternally grateful to Newt for being the one to realize before all others that it had not been him. That he had been able to forgive him.

Percival found himself tempted to send another letter to Newt to check on him, hell, he was teetering on the edge of throwing the paperwork off the table and risking the dangers of international apparation just to see Newt’s face light up with one of his broken sunshine smiles. But he knew that he shouldn’t – Newt needed time and space to recover before Percival tried smothering him with all the affection he felt for the quirky magizoologist. He wasn’t even sure if Newt was interested in him or in men at all for that matter.

Though, judging from the level of intimacy he had seen going on between Newt and his former teacher… he could have been misreading the situation, but it seemed like they had some sort of unspoken bond. Maybe there was more going on between the two than he had initially thought – they seemed to be able to read one another’s intentions with an astounding level of insight. And the looks that Dumbledore had been giving Newt’s sleeping form… Well, if that were the case… maybe it was why Newt hadn’t seemed all that comfortable around him? Because he was involved with Dumbledore? The young man was a mystery to him and though he wanted to pelt Newt with a hundred or more questions, he knew that he shouldn’t overwhelm him. As he had said to Theseus, anything that happened between Percival and Newt would only happen after Newt had made his desires clear.

It was oddly enough at around that time when a junior Auror knocked upon Graves’ office door, he bid them enter, not looking up from his paperwork until a letter was placed upon his desk. He glanced at it briefly before doing a doubletake as he recognised the scrawled, nearly illegible handwriting on the outside of the paper. He barely noticed the odd look the Auror gave him as he tore the letter open, also recognising the thicker artist’s paper of the note as being from a certain British Magizoologist’s sketchpad.

Before he read the note, he looked up sternly to fix a solid stare upon the lingering Auror who jumped and nodded hastily before leaving the room equally as quickly. Some of the newer staff members always seemed absurdly eager to watch his every move – probably trying to learn from the best MACUSA had to offer – but it had begun to grow rather irritating over the years. Once the door had shut behind the young man, Percival’s dark eyes turned instantly back down to drink in the mess of words that marred the page before him.  

_Percival Graves_

_I understand that you felt the need to return to your duties, practical as you are, and I hope you aren’t having too much trouble settling back in and clearing up the mess that you were left with. I’m recovering as well as can be expected what with the apparently unique nature of some of my injuries. The nurses all seemed rather confused by them – especially the arm and I’m pretty sure that one of them seems convinced that I did it to myself in some sort of old-world pagan ritual. Keeps on treating me like I’m going to hex her. I hope that your injuries are healing alright and that you’re taking it easy, although knowing you, I highly doubt that’s the case._

_I apologise for the delay in my reply to your kind note but it was a bit difficult getting back to London as Theseus insisted upon splitting the journey up through Floo-Powder, Apparation and rather long boat trip – something about the dangers of apparation for someone ‘in my condition’ or some similar nonsense. I repeatedly told him that I was capable enough to look after myself, despite recent events, but he was rather belligerent on the matter. As such, I’m currently staying with him in his house in London, though thankfully he hasn’t been so stubborn as to try to prevent me from seeing my creatures – like he could stop me. I’ll include the address at the end of this letter, but I don’t expect I’ll be here too much longer – I’ve told him that I am well enough to support myself but as usual, he doesn’t seem very inclined to listen to common sense._

_How is everything going in New York? Have you and Tina managed to resolve the issues you were having in Massachusetts yet? Theseus has been having a significant amount of trouble with anti-Muggle and pro-Grindelwald fanatics attempting to boycott the Ministry building, sending in Howlers, cursed envelopes and such. There hasn’t been anything too serious yet, but it seems that even in light of the capture of their idol they still have the idea that he is directing their actions from his incarceration. At least according to Theseus anyway. My guess is that he had several contingency plans put in place, so I urge you to be careful. Not that I doubt your abilities of course, only that I would hate to think you were in any danger from something I caused._

_Pickett seems to miss having you around and Dougal seems to have taken a shine to you as well – keeps on reminding me to finish this letter and send the damn thing. Everyone is doing well which is a relief because the Mooncalves are expecting, and the foals should be due any day now. I’m a bit dubious of Theseus’ capability when it comes to helping to deliver Mooncalf children, but he seemed rather insistent that I not be left to attend them alone. Whilst I appreciate his concern it’s getting a bit overbearing and I’m not entirely sure what’s on his mind half the time – keeps on staring at me oddly when he thinks I’m not looking. Merlin’s beard, sometimes I feel like if he keeps on treating me like glass, I’m just more likely to break!_

_I’m sorry if that sounded more ridiculous than I intended, but it somehow feels good to put my thoughts to paper, even if you don’t actually read them. I have been told on more than one occasion that I tend to overshare sometimes. I just thought that I might take you up on your offer as a confidant, should that still be something you want, of course. If not, then I apologise for wasting your time. I know you’re likely very busy so I shall stop my literary ramble before you fall asleep from boredom._

_I hope this letter finds you well_

_Newt. A.F. Scamander_

There was a post script written hastily after the London address - as if as an afterthought underneath the signature that made Percival huff out an amused laugh and a smile to curl the edges of his lips.

_Oh, and I still have your pen by the way. Sorry if you wanted it back, but the Niffler took it and I doubt I will be able to get it back at least until I’m healed up a bit more. Out of curiosity, what does the ‘E’ in your name stand for?_

Percival spent several minutes simply staring down in bemusement as the choppily written letter, clear smudges on the page indicating where Newt’s likely still-bandaged hands had struggled with holding the pen. Indentations, faded ink and additional smudges showing where he had added more onto his letter – likely from after he returned to England. Graves was both relieved and marginally dismayed to hear that Newt’s recovery seemed to have indeed been benefitted by his leaving. He, of course, wanted Newt to get better, but at the same time, there was an incredibly small, selfish part of him that had hoped that Newt might not recover as well without him being there – giving him an excuse to return. It was an incredibly guilty desire, one that his better nature crushed quite adamantly.

Newt’s words left him feeling decidedly relieved overall, at the knowledge that he seemed to be in good hands with his caring if an overprotective brother and that he was finding reassurance in being his creatures again. But by far the most heartening thing about the letter was that Newt seemed to want to continue their contact beyond the grounding presence Percival had tried to give him in the hospital. This was a sign, to Percival at least, that Newt’s feelings towards him were of more than simply a convenient or gratuitously obligated nature – he seemed to genuinely want to involve Percival in his life. Their rambling, oddly adorably awkward tone made that funny feeling stir within Percival’s chest that only Newt seemed to be able to achieve from words alone.

He did notice however that whilst Newt skirted around the topic of Grindelwald in terms of the vague politics and tactics that almost anyone could have, he didn’t venture any specifics past the mention of contingency plans. Clearly, he was still avoiding the subject of what had occurred during his captivity. His concern for Percival was sweet and the repeated apologies just made him more amused – the younger man seemed to hold an almost endless capacity to blame himself for things that weren’t his fault. Percival would have to work through with him on that. Someone as good as Newt shouldn’t be allowed to wallow in self-doubt or blame.

Percival found himself tracing out his reply on a summoned piece of paper before he even really registered the intention to do so. He was careful to phrase his questions and replies in as less of an invasive or demanding manner as he could – he didn’t want to push Newt away. Still smiling slightly to himself as he finished writing his own letter, placing it in an envelope and stamping it shut with his especially charmed seal that ensured the privacy of the recipient.

He checked the clock on his wall and saw that it was past the time that even he would have usually left the office and stood, cricking his stiff neck and wrists slightly as he gathered his belongings in preparation to leave. He made it halfway down the corridor before he was tapped on the shoulder from behind and he spun to see Tina smiling apologetically at him. He offered her a brief nod before walking back along the corridor though noticeably slowing his usually rapid stride so that she could keep pace with him. “Everything alright, Goldstein?”  

“Y-yes, Mr Graves, sir, I finished the interviews with those Grindelwald supporters from Boston.” She said, juggling awkwardly with a pile of reports in her arms as she struggled to keep up with Graves, he mercifully slowed his pace a little more. “They claimed that they were eradicating No-Majs who had tried to start a fight with one of their members. But by all other accounts, they went after the No-Majs in a clearly premeditated attack. Using Cruciatus and some pretty nasty jinxes that bought them all ten years minimum. We managed to obliviate all the witnesses but there was something else that had me worried, sir.”       

“And what was that Goldstein?” Percival asked as they reached the elevators at the end of the corridor, he nodded to the Goblin on the controls and he nodded in return – hitting the button for the ground floor of the Woolworth building. Tina crushed into the elevator behind him, expression worried enough to gain his proper attention and he turned to face her.

“They were saying that they got their orders directly from Grindelwald himself.” She paused, looking awkward and conflicted, her brows furrowed further. “I tried to ask them when they thought they’d gotten those orders, but they wouldn’t talk anymore after that, so I had them sent to the cells.”

“It wasn’t like we didn’t expect Grindelwald to have contingency plans, this is likely some longstanding order that he implemented – that his supporters just continue causing mayhem even in his absence. Or it could be equally as possible that they are just delinquents fearmongering by using Grindelwald’s name just to stoke up trouble.” His voice was smooth and habitually calm as assuaged Tina’s obvious fears. “Whatever the case, our course of action must remain the same – imprison anyone who claims to follow Grindelwald or his cause and decide upon their punishment according to our laws.”

“But sir, what if there’s more to this than we’re seeing-” She cut herself off as Percival released a bark of bitter laughter and he raised a dark brow at her.

“There’s _always_ more going on than we realize, Goldstein, we just have to be able to adapt to every eventuality.” Percival met her worried brown eyes with his own intensity but made sure to convey his reassuring, calm air. “There is no point in worrying yourself sick about the things that might or could be. Simply keep on guard and exercise reasonable caution.”

“Of course, sir, you’re right of course.” The elevator ground to a halt and they both exited, nodding politely in acknowledgement to Red as they left. “I’m sorry, I’ve just had a lot on my plate what with Newt and Theseus and Queenie and Jacob-” She cut herself off hastily, looking up at Percival with an expression that prompted another laugh from him which seemed to unnerve her further. He was never usually quite so expressive but Newt’s letter had left him feeling lighter than usual so he didn’t feel the need to be quite as restricted in his reactions as he usually might have been.

“You really think I didn’t realize that your sister was still seeing your No-Maj friend? I wasn’t going to mention anything as I consider those laws rather outdated if I’m honest, but I’m sure I don’t have to remind you to keep it on the down-low.” Tina had gone bright pink at his low, amused tone and nodded emphatically.

“I wasn’t going to m-mention it, sir, only that um… the wedding is happening in two weeks.” Her voice was so low that Percival had to lean closer as they walked to be able to hear it. “Queenie and Jacob that is – in London. They’re moving so they can be together, and I thought you might want to k-know because I’m sure Queenie seemed keen on you being there, even if I told her you were probably too busy and… um, I don’t think Newt would mind either, um…I imagine and he’s going to be the b-best man, if he says yes that is, s-so…”

Percival took pity on her and cut off her rambling with a gentle smile and a firm hand on her shoulder, halting them where they stood outside the front of the Woolworth building and prompted her to meet his gaze. “Tina. Breathe. I’d be delighted to attend.”  

Her face cracked into a relieved smile and she nodded eagerly, shuffling the papers in her arms and looking about awkwardly as she apparently only just realized she had left the building with them still on her person. “It’ll memo you the details tomorrow if that alright, only we’ve been having trouble getting the addresses in London right, the British system is so weird! It’s been causing me and Theseus no end of problems-”

She cut herself off again as Percival felt his dark brows reaching somewhere around his hairline. Mercy Lewis the girl could blurt out supposedly secret titbits of information sometimes – maybe it came from growing up with a chatty Legilimens for a sister. He very deliberately did not comment upon her misstep and instead bid her a polite, firm goodnight before she could say something that would further embarrass them both.

He apparated to the outside of his building and began to ascend the four flights of stairs that led up to his penthouse apartment. He could have easily afforded a townhouse with the substantial wage that he received in his position at MACUSA and from the amassing of the Graves’ family fortune, but he had instead given a large sum of the inherited money to his mother so that she could maintain the family home back in Ireland. Ysandre Graves may not have kept her maiden name when she married Percival’s father in her youth, but she had certainly retained her loyalty to her Irish family roots. The Chant name was maybe not was well respected within the international wizarding communities as was the Graves’, but their pure-blooded status, tendency for producing powerful wizards and marital connections to more influential families had certainly kept them wealthy.

Percival had given his mother the money after his father passed – the money automatically having been given to the next male Graves heir, but he had known how much her family home meant to her so had willingly given it. He hadn’t seen much of either side of his family for years and it was that that had protected them from Grindelwald during his impersonation as the only contact Percival initiated with them was through letters every few months. It wasn’t necessarily that he didn’t get along with his mother – quite the opposite in fact, but she was often trying to force ‘suitable pure-blooded brides’ upon him to continue the Graves’ line. He had no brothers and as such was the last male Graves to pass on the old name, so his mother had been constantly trying to introduce him to eligible wives over the years. None of them had been particularly awful as his mother was a rather good judge of character but Percival had simply never taken any interest in an arranged marriage.

The last time he had attended a family reunion in the form of his second cousin’s wedding nearly six years ago, he had been shuttled off into a corner with a mousy, petite blonde girl who must have been nearly half his age but had seemed incredibly keen. She had repeatedly attempted to grab his ass and had practically flopped herself on top of his lap over the course of their conversation as she threw back far too much drink. It had taken over two hours of not so subtle, though still patient hints to leave him alone before he had snapped and begun boasting to her of a conquest he had made several nights before. Taking rather grim satisfaction in seeing the utterly scandalised look upon her face as he described the young man’s good looks and provocative style of dancing. She had promptly called him a ‘perverted son of a bitch’ and thrown her drink in his face, stalking off, leaving Percival dripping and smirking.

Suffice to say, his mother had not attempted to present him with another bride since that encounter.  

As he reached the top of the stairs, having appreciated the minor workout the climb gave him – even if it stretched at his scars a bit - he smirked slightly at the thought of attending another wedding soon. Hopefully, this one would not be as distasteful or disastrous as the last one he had attended. But knowing Queenie Goldstein – the office gossipmonger and busybody – Percival got the creeping feeling that she had ulterior motives for asking Tina to invite him. He had agreed to it more as a chance to see Newt again – should he be able to attend even with his… fragile state. Percival hoped he could and after entering his apartment, withdrew his letter, charming it back open and jotting a quick inquiry onto the back of the paper before sealing it once more. He took it over to the perch on which his tawny owl - Arthur - stood and gave it to the bird, coaxing him to take the letter and opening his window to allow for him to fly away into the busy New York night.

He closed the window immediately after, disliking the rather suffocating, unpleasant smells of the city as well as due to his natural paranoia. The other reason he had chosen to move recently had been because he couldn’t stand the idea of residing in an apartment that Gellert Grindelwald had claimed as his own for months. The new place was equally as luxurious as the last on the interior even if the neighbourhood seemed significantly more squalid. Percival was not particularly bothered about the aesthetic however as he didn’t really entertain house guests or friends so didn’t care much whether it looked impressive or not. It was just a place to sleep, relax and store his arguably extravagant wardrobe. There were only three things he indulged in in life – his wardrobe, his whiskey and his favourite hobby.        

Percival sighed, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the first few buttons of his white dress shirt, reclining back into his leather armchair by the lit fire. He summoned over a glass and bottle of Fire-Whiskey, pouring out a small measure of the amber liquid and sipping at it contentedly. It would be good to see Newt out of the context of a hospital or a hostage situation - he might be able to make the younger man feel more comfortable around him in more casual surroundings. Depending on the level of formality Queenie had planned for her wedding, he might be able to ask Newt to dance.

He relaxed back further into the creaky leather at the thought of gathering Newt up in his arms and guiding the gangly magizoologist around a dance floor. It made him smile faintly to imagine Newt trying to follow his experienced steps, but at the same time made that warm feeling reappear in his chest at the imagined feeling of the younger man in his arms. Being able to lead and feeling Newt place his trust in him, warm body pressing agreeably against his own, Percival’s hand sliding down his back to brush his ass, feeling Newt’s breath stutter against his chest, his back arch slightly into him…   

He started himself out of his slumped position at the thought, brusquely placing his whiskey glass down on the dark wood side table and running a hand over his weary face. Suddenly, the distance between himself and Newt felt like far too much. Having been mere feet from him and able to comfort him whenever Newt was afraid had been more comforting to Percival than he had previously realised. Not for the first time, he began to question whether he had made the right decision by distancing himself from Newt like this. He consoled the aching feeling in his chest with more Fire-whiskey and the thought that he was at least going to see Newt in a matter of two short weeks and that in the meantime they could continue to keep in postal contact.

Then why didn’t that feel like enough anymore?       

Merlin’s beard, Newt Scamander was going to be the death of him one day.           

**A/N – hope my first attempt at a lighter chapter was okay, I’m more used to writing angst, torture and misery. (dunno what that says about me… oh wait yes I do_oops) Anyways, enjoy?**


	7. Chapter 7

**“I, I'll never be, be what you see inside, you say I'm not alone, but I am petrified. You say that you are close, is close the closest star? You just feel twice as far, you just feel twice as far, and I'll fall down, and I'll break down and I’ll fake you out.**

**...I'm so afraid of what you have to say, cause I am quiet now and silence gives you space.**

**It's the same game today as it always is, I don't give you space to speak my name explaining this and the wrists of my mind have the bleeding lines that remind me of all the times...I have committed, dirty, dirty crimes that are perfectly form-fitted to what I've done and what I'm doing...** **” – ‘Fake you out’ – Twenty-One Pilots**

Being back in London was both a relief and yet another anxiety to add to the ever-growing pile. It felt good to be in more familiar surroundings and to be able to finally see his creatures again – there was no doubt about that – but it also brought his situation into a more familiar context. Whilst in a distant hospital in Salzburg he had been able to distance himself from the things that had happened with Grindelwald and the impact they would have on his everyday life. It had just brought the troubles home – literally. Newt had somehow gotten it into his head that as soon as he was physically able to return home and get along with his life as it had been before his imprisonment, he would automatically be able to do just that. Act like nothing had ever happened – make himself feel normal by _acting_ like it had never been otherwise. Of course, that wasn’t really the case.

He hadn’t been lying in his letter to Percival when he had said that he was recovering – physically at least and to a certain extent the mental scars were, well not healing, but at least acclimatising. Under Theseus’ painfully watchful eye he had been able to go back into his case and to his house to be with his creatures and that had undeniably been a great weight that had been alleviated from his mind. Knowing that his friends had not suffered too much due to his prolonged absence and experiencing their clear joy to see him again had helped. Bunty and Dumbledore had both clearly treated them well. The nest of Occamy had practically jumped on him the moment he approached, and he had had to fight off laughter at Theseus’ alarmed reaction of drawing his wand as they had wrapped around his arms, neck and shoulders in nuzzling affection.

Of course, his brother had seen him interact with creatures before, but he had been decidedly jumpy and downright skittish around Newt since he had seen his memories, and while Newt had initially found it heartening to see his sibling’s concern, it had soon grown rather annoying. He had had to reprimand his brother at least a dozen or more times over the past week for overreacting to any little contact his creatures made or for any signs of instability that Newt might have shown.

Admittedly, he was maybe not in the best shape, but he could walk and whilst the absence of the healing charms he had been smothered in in the hospital caused a significant increase in the levels of pain he had to endure, he had found that his collection of odd healing potions had sufficed in a pinch. His chest still required bandaging to ward off infection and prevent him from scratching at the healing scabs of the burns and lash marks as they itched constantly. But at least the course of Skele-grow was no longer required and his legs, fingers and rib, whilst still being a bit shaky, no longer collapsed under him if he attempted to stand for more than a few minutes at a time.

The main issues he had been having were with the injuries that had been inflicted by much more powerful magic – namely the Deathly Hallows mark and the seared scars on his left arm. The problems with his arm lay in the tenderness that even potions and healing magic could not seem to alleviate – Newt could constantly feel the sensation of the metal and glass within his flesh and in his hand whenever he moved. It wasn’t necessarily always painful, but it certainly wasn’t comfortable either. What bugged Newt, however, was that some of the more intuitive creatures in his enclosures often shied away from him if he attempted to reach for them with that hand. He had been able to coax them out of the fearful reaction with his usual blend of patience and care, but it still stung to think that what had been done might upset his creatures. He couldn’t be sure, but he had a feeling that the living presence of the Blood-pact within him was what the creatures were sensing, and he couldn’t really blame them for being wary of such unnatural magic – it unnerved him too.   

That aside, the other recurring issue he was experiencing was that the mark of the Deathly Hallows had reappeared. It had been a slow process, so subtle that he hadn’t noticed it at first, not having wanted to see his scars more than he had to whilst dressing or bandaging himself. But today had been the first day when he had felt that he could get away with not bandaging his wounds, as they no longer itched or bled – the scars having puckered in white lines of slightly raised flesh with only a hint of redness around the edges to betray the freshness of the wounds. He had been in Theseus’ spare room that he had been shuttled off into by his elder brother and had just been changing into his clothes for the day – one of his older shirts that was a bit too small form him, his favourite shirt having been shredded and lost during his captivity. He had looked down in a cursory glance as he had buttoned the material up and simply frozen.

The traces of what had been previously subtly pale flesh had darkened once more, not quite as dramatically as they had originally, but enough so that the nearly black-red lines formed a definite shape upon his upper chest and collarbone, the tip of the design disappearing from his line of sight at the base of his neck. It wasn’t really the fact that it was Grindelwald’s sign that had reappeared on his skin that had bothered him – it was more the idea that even after Dumbledore had supposedly removed the magic in it with Grindelwald’s own damn wand it had still not worked. The idea that he could not escape Grindelwald’s influence in his dreams or in his _own damned body_ … it was just another reminder that he wasn’t really free. He may be back in London and no longer physically tied down or in contact with his captor, but he certainly hadn’t escaped him.

The reappearance of the mark was a painful prompt that no matter how far away he thought he had gotten from the horrible events and no matter how deeply he pushed the memories since then – he was still in Grindelwald’s power. Even when the dark wizard was supposedly powerless. The dreams hadn’t been too bad as of late – Grindelwald having not tried to initiate any contact again after the incident with Newt pushing back into his mind. Instead, it had returned to the familiar pattern of him staring from across the room.  

Newt was currently sat upon the neatly-made bed, hands numbly fiddling with the bottom of his still-open shirt, head down and focussing very hard on his breathing. There had been more nightmares and flashbacks since his return to England – of course, there had been - but he had at least suffered no more heart attacks or panics as he had in the hospital.

He had found that an effective coping mechanism whenever he felt the tide rising over him was to focus solely on the memory of Percival’s chest beneath his hand, of his warm, steady voice and coffee-coloured eyes. Eyes that while being capable of making his heart stutter in his chest, in that instance had just been a source of crackling, steadying warmth. He wasn’t sure why it helped but it did, it helped him remember how to breathe steadily under pressure and that there was at least another in the world who had suffered as much as he had at Grindelwald’s hand but remained steadfastly strong. Though Percival had endured his cruelty in a different way than Newt had, he had still suffered more than he ever deserved – having his life, identity and freedom taken from him as well as the physical torture.

It wasn’t fair but Newt took some solace in the idea that Percival had gotten past such atrocities and still been able to go about being the best Auror in MACUSA. Surely if he could do that, then Newt should be able to get along with his relatively unimpressive life. Not that he wholly admired the work of Aurors mind you – he was still highly dubious of the outdated and misguided laws and rather brutal methods that the Ministerial powers employed worldwide. But Percival, at least, seemed to be of a good sort – he may be a bit too officious in his adherence to his job in Newt’s opinion, but he still admired the man’s dedication to justice. To try to protect people. _We all have our causes, eh newt?_         

There was a sudden knock at the door to Newt’s allotted room and he jerked his head up as Theseus’ head poked around the door, offering him a thin smile and a mug of tea in his hand. “Morning.”

Newt nodded and hurriedly moved to finish buttoning his shirt before Theseus could see the scars upon his chest. He already got enough pitying and worried looks from his elder brother without him seeing the mysterious reappearance of the mark of the wizard who had put him in this state in the first place. He took the proffered cup of tea, absently noting that it looked rather familiar, though there was a large chip marring the blue enamel he still recognised it as one half of the matching set he had sent Theseus as an engagement gift.

He had made the set of two cups from the discarded – thoroughly cleaned, crafted and polished – shells of a Sentaku-un. The creatures were very rare and considered to be lucky by the Japanese people local to where he had found the little blue-shelled herbivore. He had sent them as an attempt to bridge the rift between him and Theseus that had arisen at his engagement announcement but judging from the chip in this cup, Theseus must not have taken it as well as the note he sent Newt in reply had suggested. At the time, Newt had gotten the distinct feeling that Leta had encouraged Theseus to reply politely and judging from the state of the cup now, he must have been correct in his assumption. Sentaku-un’s shell were incredibly durable and Theseus must have expended a great deal of force to inflict even a crack in the material.

He looked up from the chipped cup to Theseus and saw a flash of an apology flick over his face. “Sorry, I’m a bit low on kitchenware at the moment.”

Newt shook his head absently, taking a sip of tea and avoiding eye contact but smiling slightly nonetheless as he replied, “Had another tussle with your underserving surroundings, eh Thes?” 

Theseus huffed out a laugh of his own, but it sounded rather bitter – strained even and it prompted Newt to look up just in time to see true regret flash in his eyes. “Something like that, yeah.”

“What happened this time?” Theseus sighed, folding his arms across his chest and looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“Leta and I had a… disagreement and I lost my temper…just like I always do.” Newt’s brows furrowed as he realised that he had not actually seen Leta since coming to stay with Theseus, he felt guilty at the thought that he had been so absorbed in himself to not think of his childhood friend and soon-to-be sister in law. Though come to think of it now, in the week he had been here he had seen neither hide nor hair of the woman. Newt had been sticking to his room and only really having left to go to his own house – under Theseus’ strict supervision after he had finished work each day. But during the day Newt had mainly whiled his time away writing, reading and sketching – not being able to do much else in his still ‘fragile’ state.

He frowned and ventured with some hesitancy “Is she alright? I mean I haven’t seen-”

Theseus cut him off with a deeper sigh and a look of deep regret, as if he hadn’t wanted to bring up the subject but now wanted to just get it out of the way – to expel the repressed agony. “She _left_ , Newt. Can’t really say that I blame her either. In all the time I was looking for you I didn’t think to contact her once. Not once! Not even when I was preparing myself to not be coming back! I was too bloody busy being distracted by my own wandering thoughts-”

He cut himself off, taking a shaking breath before continuing in a fervent whisper. “She deserves better than someone who doesn’t even think to tell his fiancé goodbye when he goes to face the darkest wizard of the century. She told me that I was better off without her too. I tried to convince her she was being ridiculous, but with all the rumours going around about the Obscurus boy being Corvus Lestrange – her bloody brother… well… she said that she would rather have some time to sort out her family affairs and told me to do the same. Told me not to wait around because she wasn’t going to…”   

Newt felt his heart sink as he witnessed the utterly crushed look on his face, the pain in his blue eyes that had been simmering beneath the surface for days now and Newt – selfish idiot that he was – had assumed it was just lingering concern for him. How had it been for Theseus - juggling his invalid brother, the pressures at the Ministry and having Leta leave him all in such a short space of time? Justified or not, neither Leta or Newt had acted fairly towards Theseus.

He pushed himself up off the bed and wrapped his bereft brother in an awkward hug – he had never before been the one to initiate such contact but the hurt bubbling in Theseus’ eyes was too much for Newt to witness without trying to do something to help. He could not think of any adequate words that could express his need to comfort him and apologise for what had happened so he just held on and hoped that it would help.

He felt Theseus’ chest jerk against his own scarred one in barely contained sobs. It was not the same as the hug they had shared in the hospital when both had tried to retain some semblance of propriety. Now, he could feel Theseus’ misery and anxious tension seeping out of him and Newt just let himself soak it up. He was certainly in no stable situation himself – far from it – but the feeling of having someone he cared about so hurt and in need of help helped him to find the strength to be strong for _them_. It was like what he did for his creatures – he found his strength in supporting others. He felt so useless at that moment – not being able to offer any clever or comforting words, anything he thought of just seemed to be vague, hollow and unhelpful sounding, even to his own ears. So he just squeezed Theseus tighter; maybe this was why Theseus seemed to prefer hugging, there was no disappointment in the awkward attempts to voice their emotions. Just a physical presence offering support.      

Theseus was the one to pull back first, shaking his head and scrubbing an angry hand at his eyes that made Newt avert his gaze and step back to give Theseus time to collect himself. Absently he picked up his cup of tea and sipped at the cooling liquid, keeping his back to his brother, unsure of what he was supposed to do now – usually one of them had something much more important to be doing that prompted them to leave. That wasn’t currently the case as it was a Sunday and Theseus had told him the previous day that he would be staying home as he was expecting a visitor.

Having finished his tea but still sensing Theseus standing nearby, Newt instead busied himself by shrugging on his waistcoat and braces with a wince and loosely brushing the empty space around his collar where his bowtie would usually reside. He had only had one in his possession and of course, it was now gone, though what Grindelwald had done with it or the rest of his clothes, he couldn’t imagine. _Probably kept them as a keepsake eh Newt?_ The thought made him shudder slightly and his trembling fingers pulled nervously at his collar, even though it wasn’t fully buttoned up it suddenly felt too tight. The material wasn’t physically constricting his throat he suddenly felt that each breath was catching in his throat as if he was being choked. Newt pulled at it more forcefully, face flushing slightly as he swore he could feel a grip pressing mercilessly against his windpipe.

“Newt? Newt?” He felt Theseus’ hand on his wrist, insistently pulling at his hand to get it away from where he clutched his collar. It didn’t stop the choking feeling however and his knees gave out under him as light-headedness overtook him. He heard Theseus’ voice again, calling his name frantically and cursing under his breath. “Newt! Damn it, Newt, breathe, come on, it’s okay. He’s not here, he can’t hurt you anymore.”

The words didn’t relieve him, however; only fuelled his panic as Grindelwald’s face flashed unbidden in front of his eyes, he had collapsed against the bed and the presence of a man hovering over him – even that of his brother, made fear flood through him faster. His wrist was still in Theseus’ grip and it made the images from before flash more vividly through his sight. He could see Grindelwald’s familiar sneer pasting itself upon Theseus’ blurry face, replacing the concern with malicious intent as he gripped Newt tighter by the wrist, keeping it away from the hand he could _feel_ choking him still. _You enjoyed the attention didn't you, Newt? The vulnerability?_ Newt bucked and wiggled, shaking his head and trying desperately to fight the manic vision of Theseus he could see _off_ as the room spun blurrily around him, feeling surprise bolt through him as the other man let him.    

The hands were raised, open palms out towards him in a placating gesture and Newt felt the hold on his throat lessen so that the ringing in his ears quietened enough to hear the words pouring from his mouth. “Newt, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. Please just breathe for me, I’m not him. Think about it, Newt – he didn’t become me before. Why would he do it now? Please just breathe and focus on here and now.”

His words rung with sense and Newt nodded blearily, focusing on his grounding memory of Percival’s breathing, his voice, warm and calm. _See, just like this, in and out, nice and slow._ It helped, like it always did, but he probably wouldn’t have been able to get there if it hadn’t been for Theseus. Newt sat up from his sprawled-out position on the bed and Theseus looked immeasurably relieved at the movement, the young Magizoologist’s throat felt sore and he gingerly reached up a hand to rub at it. There didn’t seem to be any new bruises present though he had managed to apparently cause a few tiny stinging cuts with his frantic nails. His left hand stung along the lines of engraved silver from his struggles.  

Whatever he had just experienced had likely just been some sort of intense flashback rather than anything magical, which came as a relief even if it meant that he wasn’t quite as recovered as he had thought. He hated that these attacks could come from the smallest bloody things – that even safe surroundings and his own brother could trigger some primal fear inside of him. He hadn’t been hearing much of the voice for a while and it was disheartening to think that its provocative, blunt pragmatism was back again.

“Are you alright, Newt? Are you back with me?” He looked up at his brother gratefully and nodded – for the first time feeling glad that Theseus had seen what he had – that he had known enough to snap Newt out of it.

 “Yeah, s-sorry Thes, t-thank you for- thanks.” He didn’t dare voice exactly _what_ he was thankful; for, not wanting to speak what both had witnessed aloud. There was no point in worrying Theseus further by drudging up what he already knew had happened.  

The young magizoologist felt the sudden urge to distance himself from the bed and the small room that reminded him too much of the room in Nurmengard. He pushed up off the bed and headed for the door, walking out a bit unsteadily into the corridor, looking back to prompt Theseus to follow him as he descended the stairs and went into the kitchen. He plopped himself heavily down onto a chair at the kitchen table, placing his arms groundingly on top of the smooth wood and rolling up his sleeves to the elbows as he still felt sweat clinging to his brow and skin. The silvery glass lines on his left arm stood out starkly against the pallor of his skin as his lean muscles flexed slightly at the movement, he flexed his fingers a bit. He had found that the metal’s presence in his skin made his fingers grow stiff if he stayed still for too long and winced as the skin pulled a little.      

There was a long pause before Theseus broke the silence by speaking again, leaning up against the kitchen counter as he faced his younger sibling. “Newt, you do know it will help if you tell me if something is upsetting you,” Theseus spoke firmly, earnestly. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you with all that stuff about Leta-”

It was Newt’s turn to cut his brother off for once however as he met the elder’s gaze with a similar decisiveness. “No, you have just as much right to talk about what’s bothering you as I do. Let’s be honest here – what happened isn’t going to just go away any time soon and you shouldn’t have to hide your own problems because you’re worried it might upset me.”

“But I’m pretty sure that you don’t want to hear about the troubles I’m having with the woman you used to hold affections for.” Newt flinched slightly at that – neither of them usually brought up _this_ subject unless they were looking for a fight and it felt odd to hear Theseus mentioning it in an earnest seeming manner.

“You needn’t worry about that Thee, I’m honestly not bothered by it at this point.” He let out a huffing, slightly hysterical sounding laugh under his breath, offering his alarmed looking sibling a wry smile. “My brother being in love with my childhood sweetheart kind of fell to the bottom of my list of worries lately. Abduction, torture, manically obsessive dark wizards and the battle of the century being waged not feet away from you are a better distraction than most would have you believe.”   

Even Theseus could not prevent a huff of scornful mirth from leaving his lips and Newt felt a tendril of relief creep through him at the reaction. It helped to get this normal rhythm and banter flowing back between them – made him feel less tense and breakable. Reminded him of their childhood and how much simpler it had been between them before all these bloody complications began.

“I can imagine it would, though I can’t say that any of my extensive training covered dealing with cheeky mouthed sods.” He quirked an eyebrow and Newt snorted.

“And I must have missed the lessons at Hogwarts that taught me how to deal with pompous, overbearing workaholics.”

“That might’ve been because you were too busy messing about with your bloody creatures to ever attend any. Oh, and then managing to get yourself expelled probably didn’t help matters.” Newt let out an indignant huff and scooped up an apple from the bowl on the table and lobbed it playfully at him which Theseus caught without batting an eyelid, grinning at him in a distinctly smug manner. Newt had never been very good at managing to hit his brother with anything despite how often he had attempted it in their younger years.    

“If I remember correctly, you had owls sent home at least _three_ times because you’d skipped charms lessons to flirt with sixth-year girls.”

Theseus offered him a cocky grin and tossed the apple in the air once before biting into it with apparent relish. “That was because I didn’t _need_ lessons in charming. I endeavoured to spend my time with pretty girls because that’s what most normal teenage boys _do,_ little brother. Rather than chasing after some god-awful dangerous beast in the _Forbidden Forest_!”     

Newt was about to embark upon an emphatic rant upon just how interesting the creatures of the Forbidden Forest were when there was a knock at the kitchen door and there was suddenly a flurry of pink and crimson coats, scarves and mittens coming through the door. He jumped slightly at the sudden entrance but glancing over at Theseus’ unconcerned face he relaxed and regarded the newcomers again – quickly recognising the Goldstein sisters as they removed their excessive layers of outer clothing.

“Mercy Lewis! You could’ve warned us that London was so cold Theseus!” The exclamation came from the unravelling bundle of red and grey cloth that turned out to be Tina and when she glanced over and noticed Newt, she flushed even more pink beyond the biting cold outside. “Oh, Newt! You’re here uh, how are you?”

“Yeah, how’re you doing, honey?” Queenie’s voice was cheerful sounding as ever but when she turned to look properly at him, he could tell that she was avoiding his gaze directly. He wondered if she was still able to hear his thoughts or if she was purposefully trying not to.  

“Good- fine actually.” Newt said in a rush as he got up from his chair to allow the two women to sit down. Theseus began looking about for spare cups in the oddly empty cupboards and managed to scrounge up enough trappings to make hot drinks. The Goldstein sisters piled themselves around the table, plopping their coats, scarves, gloves and hats on the backs of their chosen chairs.

Theseus politely gathered up the coats as he waited for the kettle to boil on top of the stove, sending them into the hall nearby with a flick of his wand to hang themselves up neatly on the rack. Both Americans looked flushed pink and windswept from the cold outside and Newt couldn’t help but find himself wondering what they were doing there.

“We came to see you and Theseus of course!” Queenie’s chirrup at least answered Newt’s unspoken wonder and told him that she could in fact still read him – whatever Grindelwald had done to shield Newt’s mind must’ve worn off. He found himself purposefully pushing his thoughts away from such things however – there was no use in reminding Queenie of anything that may or may not have happened. Instead, he offered both women a soft if a bit strained smile.      

“It’s a rather long way to come just for that isn’t it?” He asked, quirking a brow. In his experience, Queenie never did anything without an ulterior motive. Clearly still listening to his thoughts, she giggled, seeming more comfortable as she nodded.

“You’re right of course. We’ve got some wonderful news – me and Jacob are getting married!”

Newt blinked, nonplussed but then broke into a genuine smile. Theseus came around the side of the table to sit at the head of the table between where he had sat back down and Tina, smirking at Newt’s confusion and placing cups of tea in front of himself and Newt whilst charming two cups of coffee to float over to the Goldstein sisters. Evidently, Newt had been the last to be aware of the engagement. “Well, congratulations, but how-.”

“Thanks, sweetie! We’re getting past those silly laws cause we’re moving over here! To London! Isn’t it great?”

A bit overwhelmed, Newt just nodded, needing a moment to quite process so much enthusiasm as he was being overwhelmed with by the two practically glowing witches. He swallowed, ducking his head and cautiously moving his arms under the table as he felt both women’s gazes drawn to the left. “Yes, of course it is, but um where’s Jacob?”  

“Oh, he’s busy getting the keys to our new place and he’s gonna meet us later. The apartment is above a vacant store that’s he’s gonna make into a bakery – he’s always wanted to come here. London, I mean and while I don’t really like the cold, I’m just glad we have people here we know. We’ll practically be neighbours, isn’t that right Theseus? Teenie?”

Tina, who had been apparently more preoccupied with exchanging amused, odd looks with Theseus, jumped slightly and nodded hurriedly. Theseus released an amused huff of laughter and raised an eyebrow at Queenie. “I’ve told you before that London isn’t quite that small Queenie. Your new home is halfway across the city from here. Hell, you’re practically down the road from Newt, isn’t that about right?”

Realizing that his brother was clearly making the implication that he and Queenie and Jacob were going to be in a situation where he might have the Americans visiting him spontaneously whenever the mood struck them, gulped slightly. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of his friends living nearby – it was actually a bit of a comfort, in fact, to think that he might be witnessing the foundations of a normal life being built.

The idea of a married couple who happened to be his friends living nearby was a surprisingly pleasant idea – that was of course until you factored in the idea that one of was a natural Legilimens. Someone who was capable of getting inside of his head – even someone he trusted – living so nearby was enough to make Newt’s head itch. He already had enough presences within his mind and already shared enough of his grief with others to know that having Queenie around constantly would not be good for either of them. He liked her but there was still a niggling, irritating little doubt in his head that told him he shouldn’t trust her. _Think of what she almost did._ It was stupid and likely groundless, but he couldn’t help but be a bit unnerved by it.

He hated himself as he witnessed how Queenie’s elated expression fell slightly as she obviously sensed his thoughts and her smile softened into a contrite pull of her lips as she met his eyes head-on for the first time. “I’m sorry about before, Newt, honey, I really am. I was confused and desperate and I made some real stupid choices, but I swear I ain’t gonna do anything to hurt you.”

“It’s alright- I- I don’t blame you Queenie, I just don’t want to ruin your new life with what’s going on in my head right now.” He smiled at her softly, sadly, and she nodded as she realised what he meant. Being around someone as messed up as he was not likely to be good for anyone involved.

“If it makes you feel better, I promise I’ll try to keep out of your thoughts as much as I can, but I can’t always help it.” He appreciated her honesty.     

“I know.” He replied, gaze fixed upon the table in front of him, right hand moving to absently trace the lines of silver on the back of his other in his lap.

There were several painfully long moments of silence at the table before Theseus suddenly cleared his throat and looked to Tina in a pointed manner. She started slightly from where she had just been staring at him, looking around the table before clearing her own throat and focussing on her sister. “There was something that you wanted to ask Newt, wasn’t there Queenie?”

Queenie looked a bit flustered for a moment before brightening and turning to Newt with a persuasively cheery smile. “Oh yeah, of course! How stupid of me! I was gonna wait till Jacob got here but-” she glanced from the closed kitchen door to her sister and then back to Newt again. “We want you to be our best-man, honey!”

Newt’s mind went blank before restarting a few moments later and he blinked, flushing slightly, eyes fixed on Queenie’s pink dressed shoulder and voice an awkward mumble “I uh would be honoured but um well… why?”

There was an almost collective chuckle at that from around the table and Queenie smiled kindly at him. “You were the one that got me and Jacob together in the first place so who else was I going to ask?”

“Um, I’m not sure that’s quite-”

“Of course, it is! If you hadn’t let your crazy creatures loose in New York, then Tina would’ve never brought you and Jacob to our place and we wouldn’t’ve ever met!”

“Well technically it was the Niffler who was responsible for you meeting…” he said, trying to say anything that might convince her to change her mind about the terrible idea. He would undoubtedly be an awful best-man – he’d been decidedly glad of the excuse of not wanting to make things awkward in order to get out of being Theseus’ best-man. There were so many ways this could go wrong. He could lose the rings, he could have a breakdown or flashback in the middle of the ceremony, he might hurt someone…   

“I don’t think the Niffler would make a very good best-man though, now would he?”

Newt blinked bemusedly and mumbled, “Certainly not, he wouldn’t give the rings back for one thing and-”

He trailed off as the other three burst out laughing at Newt’s confusion and he belatedly realised that she had been teasing him and he flushed bright scarlet, fixing his gaze on his lap once more.

“Is that a yes then?” Queenie asked once the laughter had died down a bit and Newt risked glancing up, offering her a weak smile.

“I-if that’s what you w-want, of course I will.” He was a bit taken aback as Queenie squealed, jumped up and came around the table to wrap him in a tight hug. He froze for a second as her grip made the wounds on his torso ache in a flare of pain, but he forced himself to relax after a few seconds and awkwardly patted her back. Newt swore he caught a glimpse of Tina and Theseus exchanging a smirk behind Queenie’s back. She jumped back and skipped back round the table with a grin on her face that everyone at the table seemed to find so infectious that even Newt cracked a smile. 

There was suddenly a light tapping at the kitchen window and all the room’s occupants looked over to see a tawny owl perched on the outside ledge of the window, Theseus looked confused as he went to open the window, allowing the bird to hop inside. Newt, however, recognised it straight away as Percival’s owl, Arthur, and quickly stood to relieve the tawny of his burden. He felt the curious eyes of everyone in the room follow him, except for Queenie who clearly knew who the letter was from.

“I’ll, uh, speak to you later if that’s alright.” He mumbled as he headed hurriedly out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room, though he could have sworn he heard a stifled giggle follow him. He had been eagerly waiting for Percival’s reply for several days now and had been inwardly cursing the distance between London and New York with each passing hour. There had been part of him that was worried he had scared Percival away with his needy, unstable, weird behaviour. He flopped down onto his bed, tearing open the carefully sealed envelope and unfolding the sheaf of thick, good quality paper inside.

_Newt_

_Thank you for your unwarranted concern and I urge you once again to not blame yourself for the actions of a sadistic madman – there is nothing more you could have done than what you did. I hope you are settling well in London and, by all means, please keep on reminding your brother that he’s not always right about everything. Of all people, I truly believe you’re capable of proving his expectations of you wrong. You are by far one of the most uniquely strong individuals I have encountered in my life so I have faith that you can get through this._

_I’m glad to hear that your collection of creatures has not suffered for your absence and that you feel well enough to be tending them. But I return your sentiment of hoping that you do not overexert yourself or hinder your recovery by doing anything foolish. Your brother may be mistaken on a number of things; however, I loathe to admit it, you do need to take it easy. As an eminent pioneer of the field of pushing oneself too far past the limitations of your own body and mind I must remind you that it isn’t weakness to seek help from those around you. I certainly do not begrudge you feeling the desire to confide in me, in fact, I encourage it._

_I wish I could be there to see Theseus attempting to deal with birthing Mooncalves under your supervision but as aforementioned, things over here are growing increasingly difficult lately. We have the situation in hand, but it is a fragile holding pattern at best – escalating tensions across the globe have led to increased violence towards No-Majs and anyone not of Pureblood descent. However, Tina has been of great help in keeping the Department of Magical Security in order, even if the rest of MACUSA seem to be pinning their hands under their own asses._

_You are almost certainly right about Grindelwald’s contingency plans but all we can do is handle them as best we can as and when they present themselves. It’s not like we’re in a position to be asking the bastard what he’s planning after all, but at least I can take solace in the fact that your professor ensured he won’t be able to witness any of his handiwork in person. Madam President Picquery certainly wasn’t happy about any of it but I think I’ve managed to convince her that this is probably for the best. He’s eluded us before and if you trust Dumbledore to keep him imprisoned, I am willing to place my faith in that._

_Don’t worry about the pen, I have plenty more where that came from and I’m sure your furry little friend will appreciate it more than I would._

_As I said, take it easy on yourself_

_Percival. E. Graves_

There was an added scrawl of lines added to the back as a clear afterthought that made Newt’s unquenchable smile turn to a gasp of surprise.

_I look forward to having the opportunity to see you again at Queenie’s wedding in London in two weeks’ time and hope that you feel up to attending. It would be an awful shame to miss such an opportunity as this to fulfil my debt to you._

Newt felt a flush colour his cheeks further at the overwhelmingly warm tone of Percival’s written words and the thought that he would likely be seeing Percival again so soon. It seemed that he truly had been the last to know about Queenie and Jacob’s wedding, though he had a sneaking suspicion that it was because his brother and friends were worried about him still. _Well shouldn’t they be?_ Not helpful, stop it.

Realizing that he had been rather rude to the Goldstein sisters in wake of his eagerness to read Percival’s reply, he left the note on his bed and quietly left his room, getting down the first few steps of the stairs before he stopped short. He could hear decidedly raised whispers coming from Theseus’ room, he was going to ignore it but found his curiosity piqued when he heard a familiar name mentioned.         

“I know you love Leta but her decision to leave you seems like a mistake she’s going to just have to live with. You can’t blame yourself for this! I’m no expert but I think that if she broke off your engagement for wanting to save your brother, it wasn’t going to work out anyways. Someone that selfish isn’t worth your time.”

Newt was decidedly alarmed to recognise Tina’s voice and was even more shocked to hear her sound so fervent and bluntly condemning of Leta. He paused, frozen on the step as he heard his brother’s voice reply in a dejected tone. “I don’t think that she was being selfish by wanting to know that I might not be coming back or that Newt might’ve not either.”

“And that’s another thing! You didn’t even question the fact that she openly admitted to you that she was still in love with your brother even after you got engaged. I don’t know if it’s just me, but that sounds like something only a manipulative, selfish bitch would do. It sounded like she was just trying to start trouble between you two from the start. She couldn’t have Newt so decided to mess around with his head by pursuing you. You’re worth so much more than this Theseus, you-”

There was a cut-off, surprised squeak from Tina followed by some very wet sounds that prompted further confusion from Newt for several seconds before he twigged after hearing muffled moans through the door. Flushing a deeper scarlet, he hastened as quickly and quietly as he could down the stairs and back into the kitchen. He was definitely _not_ going to think about what he just heard anytime soon if he could help it.  

Queenie was sitting there at the table, still nursing her coffee with an expression upon her face that was caught somewhere between amusement and awkward disgust. He cleared his throat awkwardly as a muffled thump issued from upstairs followed by a very un-Tina-like giggle. Newt sat back at the table, gaze fixed upon his second cold cup of tea and not daring to look directly at Queenie as he asked, very hesitantly. “So, my brother and your sister…?”

“Yep.”

“How long?” Newt ventured, more out of an absent need to fill the silence than any real curiosity.

“Oh, they’ve been making eyes at each other from the moment she called him an ass.” Both of them grimaced.  

“And you can hear both of their-”

“ _Yep_.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Newt took an awkward sip of his cold tea and tried _very_ hard not to picture exactly what was going on upstairs right now. From the pained, slightly queasy expression on Queenie’s face, she was trying to do the same. There was maybe a minute of incredibly tense silence before-

“Want to help me check on my creatures?”

“Morgana’s ass, yes, please!” she practically leapt from her seat towards the door and Newt did the same.

“I’ll get the coats.”

As he handed Queenie her pink overcoat and slipped on his own blue one, they both hastened out of the kitchen door in under a minute. Despite the biting cold and brisk breeze Newt paused for a moment by the door and asked. “What about Jacob?”

“We can stop by the bakery on our way, can’t we?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” He said, gripping Queenie’s arm and apparating them to the end of the road near his own house. It was still difficult to apparate wandlessly, but he was gradually getting the hang of it out of a desire to never again be trapped anywhere because he didn’t have a wand. _To not be helpless again._ Queenie took a moment to gather her bearings before pointing out the vacant shop at the opposite end of the adjoining street.

Newt raised an eyebrow at the suspiciously nearby location of Queenie and Jacob’s new place to his own house and thought he could have _sworn_ that the shop had been occupied not weeks before. That it had been s corner shop owned by an elderly muggle man whom he had bought food from. Had Theseus done something to ensure that Newt might have friends nearby? It wouldn’t be the first time he had done some convenient obliviating of muggles in the guise of ‘protecting him’ but surely, he wouldn’t stoop to obliviating poor shop keepers just so that his friends could live nearby? The idea was ridiculous… and also annoyingly likely. _He probably thinks you need a babysitter so that you don’t end up getting kidnapped and obliterated again… or maybe he did it for Tina since they seem to be getting so friendly._ Uh, please stop it. 

Newt scowled slightly but purposefully ignored at the customarily truthful voice. He looked up at the shabby brick storefront with peeling paper signage in front of them that she had led him to. “It looks, um…nice?”

“It’ll need some fixing up, sure, but it’ll be a fun little project for us!” Queenie stated proudly, going forward to open the front door which must have been unlocked as it swung open easily. She entered and Newt followed, ducking his head in the low doorway as they entered the dark wood-floored shop. On the inside it actually looked quite alright – the floor a bit dusty but the wooden upholstery clearly having been kept in better condition than the outside. There was an air blown stained-glass section to the front window that cast the room in a pleasant rosy glow from the late morning sun filtering from outside. It smelt musty but even Newt could tell that it looked rather promising as a start-up business and maybe even a home. Queenie and Jacob - and likely Theseus – had chosen well.

There was a thunder of footsteps from the stairs off to the right of the shop and Jacob appeared, grinning widely as he saw who had come into the shop. He practically ran down the last few steps and over to embrace first Queenie and then Newt in quick, tight hugs.

“Newt! How the hell are you?” Jacob asked exuberantly, playfully punching his arm Though it had been a light blow Newt still let out a gasp as the Muggle’s knuckle audibly struck metal through his coat. It was a tiny clink, but he still felt prompted to offer both a sheepish smile at their visibly confused expressions. Clearly, Queenie wasn’t digging too deep into his memories if she didn’t realize what the sound meant, and he found himself oddly grateful.

“Sorry, but what the hell was-” Jacob cut himself off as Newt shook the slight numbness out of his arm and shook his head softly.

“It’s nothing Jacob, nothing to worry about at least. I owe you congratulations on your engagement.” The change of topic worked as both broke into smiles again, Jacob wrapping his arm around Queenie as he beamed proudly.

“Yeah! Still can’t believe I’m lucky enough that this is really happening!” He gazed fondly at his fiancé and all Newt could do was smile awkwardly. “I’ve always wanted to go to London, to open a bakery and to marry a wonderful woman who loves to be cooked for. What are the chances that I get all of that ‘cause of meeting you eh, Newt?”

Newt ducked his head, flushing again for what felt like the hundredth time that day and nodding. “I think you’re both giving me far too much credit here.”

“Of course not! That’s why you’re my best-man!” Jacob exclaimed, patting Newt enthusiastically on the other shoulder before glancing to Queenie in question “You did ask him darlin’, didn’t you? And he said yes? You said yes, didn’t you, Newt?”  

“Y-yes, if that’s what you both want.” He said, feeling awkward for having to repeat his reluctant words from earlier.

“Good! Great! Oh, you gotta try the tester cake I made for the reception Newt!” He bustled off through a back door, returning a minute later with a tinfoil wrapped slice of some sort of fruity looking iced cake.

Newt took it and awkwardly took a bite under Jacob’s eager gaze, he nodded slightly and mumbled around his mouthful “S’good.”

“Oh, that’s good! I was worried that spell Queenie put on it to keep it fresh on the journey over might’ve turned it weird or sumin’.” Queenie batted at his arm playfully and reproached him in a teasing voice.

“I _told_ you Jacob, magic works on food just fine if you know what you’re doing.”

“I’m sorry darlin’, you’re right as usual – none of your food is anything but amazing after all.” Queenie giggled and they shared a smiling kiss that prompted Newt to focus his attention entirely upon his cake. Cake was safe. Cake didn’t actively remind him of the fact that everyone and their mothers seemed to be finding romance at the moment, whilst he was painfully unable to imagine getting that close to the object of his desire without panicking.

“Oh, don’t worry about that honey, there’ll be plenty of time for all that later. I hear that Graves has a habit of causing quite the scandal at weddings – maybe you’ll get lucky.”

Newt promptly choked on his mouthful of cake.     


	8. Chapter 8

**“I am the one you left for dead, say you want it, too, you are the bullet in my head and as you stand over my grave, tell me it's okay, your porcelain lips upon my face.**

**Either I'm in heaven, or I'm in hell, am I losing my mind yet? 'Cause I can't tell I've been waiting for answers for way too long...**

**Spiders in my head, spiders in my mind, you may take my eyes, but baby, I'm not blind. It all works out in time.” – ‘Spiderhead’ – Cage the Elephant**

Newt found himself immeasurably tired as the day wore on, the rather eventful morning and what followed into the afternoon leaving him struggling to keep his eyes open. He supposed that it was normal to be feeling more run-down than usual, what with all the stress, recovering from injuries and the perpetual invasion of when he _did_ manage to get some sleep. He had spent a rather enjoyable afternoon tending to his creatures – feeding them, letting them blow off steam where needed and introducing them to Queenie and Jacob properly. They had been a surprisingly good help when it came to the more physical aspects of caring for his creatures as Jacob was able to do some of the heavier lifting where Newt had been neglecting. Queenie had seemed to be a bit off-put by not being able to sense the creatures’ intentions like she could a humans’ but otherwise got along well with them under Newt’s careful eye.

The Bowtruckles had appreciated having Pickett back with them for a bit, even if the clingy creature didn’t seem to, as they had gathered around him, chirruping excitedly. Newt had had to stifle his laughter as Pickett had promptly gone to hide near the roots of their home tree – it was laughably like his own reaction around other people at the Bowtruckle’s young age. The expecting Mooncalves were mere days away from giving birth, but nothing seemed to be awry as the creatures were wandering about their perpetually moonlit enclosure as they usually would, if a bit slower. Queenie and Jacob had seemed particularly enamoured with the grey-skinned, hopping beasts and he had gladly left them with them whilst he took care of the more skittish creatures in his case and the underground room.

He had briefly bumped into Bunty on her way out and there had been a very awkward instance where she had tightly wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning her head close against his chest, murmuring that she was glad he was okay before turning bright red and leaving. Newt had stood there confusedly for several minutes afterwards, unsure of what had just happened, before shaking it off and continuing about his business.

By this point in the evening, Newt was decidedly glad of the cot that he kept in the shed in the case as he flopped onto it. He felt incredibly weary and he got the sneaking suspicion that he just _might_ have pushed himself a bit too far today. His clothes were flecked liberally with mud, feathers, saliva and sweat but he couldn’t muster up the energy to change as even the lumpy cot felt like heaven against his sore muscles. Newt’s left arm stung fiercely as he worked the appendage underneath the pillow, pulling it against his face to block out the artificially natural light as his eyes slipped closed.

When he entered the cell in Nurmengard this time Newt found himself being pulled through what felt like a thick sheet of rubber, the ceiling that he usually fell through seeming to be resisting the force that irresistibly dragged him through it. Like two almost equally strong forces were pulling and pushing back on him at the same time. But go through he did, and he found himself standing in his usual corner, watching as Grindelwald stood up to silently greet his new guest. Not Newt, however, but Albus. It appeared that Dumbledore had chosen to visit Grindelwald at a time when Newt had naturally fallen into his slumber. It was odd to see the two men together again in this context – of Grindelwald not being able to exert his usual power and malice so instead resorting to silent regard.

Neither wizard looked at him and Newt got the oddest feeling that even should he announce his presence in some way, that Grindelwald would be the only one to notice it. After all, Newt was only there in a non-corporeal way so he doubted that the physical embodiment of Dumbledore would be aware unless he tapped into the bond in the same way that Grindelwald had. There was no door in the cell so Newt could only assume that his former teacher had rigged the wards so that only he could apparate in or out. It made sense that he would allow for such a loophole in his defences as Newt supposed even someone like Grindelwald needed to be provided with food and water. Though Newt found it odd trying to picture Dumbledore finding the time or inclination to cater to Grindelwald on a regular basis – so maybe there was another system of spells in place? Whatever the case was, that wasn’t what was happening right now.

No, the two wizards were standing close in front of one another, Grindelwald meeting blue eyes with his own mismatched ones. They were of a similar height and both stood with their backs straight, Grindelwald’s hands clasped behind his back and Albus’ buried in his pockets. There was a palpable tension between the two that had been muted the last time that Newt had seen them face one another – an intimacy that made discomfort curl in Newt’s stomach as he stood frozen and awkward in his corner. He very much felt that he shouldn’t be here right now and that he was intruding upon a private moment between the two men, but not having any say whatsoever in his presence. Had the bond drawn him back here out of habit or had Grindelwald called upon it? Surely, he did not wish Newt to witness the… intensity that was being exchanged between himself and Albus?

Newt found himself almost holding his breath and not daring to move or do anything that might draw attention to himself as Albus spoke, reaching into his robes as he did so. “I brought you something.” A weathered hand withdrew a stack of medium-sized volumes from his magically enlarged inner pockets, the spines of the books worn from use but clearly well-cared for. He held them, gaze skating over the covers for a few moments. “Some texts on Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Theosophy and an interesting journal on the futility of eugenics.”

Grindelwald’s highly sceptical expression coupled with an arched blonde eyebrow seemed to humour Albus and the teacher chuckled wryly. “You can’t blame me for trying.” He reached into his cloak again, withdrawing an older, thinner, more battered book that was bound in black leather. Whilst Newt was unable to read the Germanic title etched in gold upon its surface, he did recognise the author’s name written below as being William Blake. It surprised him to think that Albus might believe Grindelwald would have any interest in poetry that spoke in any way of preserving innocence and treasuring nature. Though he did suppose that the man was likely to find interest in anything that challenged the supposed established order of things. Was that what Grindelwald thought he was doing by trying to overthrow the Ministries and subjugate Muggles – returning things to a natural order where the powerful ruled the perceived weak? It seemed in line with the rest of his twisted ideologies, so why wouldn’t he value the works of a poet who actively challenged the modernisations in favour of the old ways.

Albus placed the books in a neat stack on the floor and then waved his hand in a complex gesture. A shimmer rippled through the air around Grindelwald before the man rubbed lightly at his throat. “I imagine these came from the severely limited library at that school of yours.”

“Some of them, yes, but it was all I could manage on such short notice. I was rather busy sorting out your mess in Luxemburg to have much opportunity to browse.” His expression was calm and his tone purposefully light though Newt could see the tension in his shoulders.

Grindelwald laughed softly “Yes, I would apologise for that, but it all seems a little redundant now.” His lips curled up in a slight sneer “Besides, I would imagine it would come as a welcome change from the drudgery of that teaching post you’ve shackled yourself to. Such a dreadful waste of your potential, Albus.” His gaze darkened as he eyed Dumbledore’s face with clear disdain. “As well as the unproven potential of the most powerful Hallow.” 

Albus’ bright blue eyes flickered with something odd then, as if there was a part of him that agreed with Grindelwald’s scornful words but did want to admit it to himself. “I do not see educating young minds in how to defend themselves against unsurmountable evil a waste, Gellert. Even you must admit that a formal education is often the building block for a promising future.”

Grindelwald let out a bark of laughter that snapped through the air like a gust of cold wind. “Then why is it, Albus, that there are those who flourished more once having been expelled from the sort of institution of indoctrination you claim to protect?”

Albus’ answering smile was rueful and his voice quiet. “I concede your point, but not everyone can be quite as… uniquely motivated or spirited as we were.”

“Were you in fact yourself, you would realise that you referred to your spiritedness as being something lost.” Grindelwald’s eyes gleamed furiously as he took a step forward, hands coming to clench by his sides. “Without even acknowledging it, you have allowed your mind to dull to the level of those around you. What you require are pursuits that truly challenge you. Pursuits such as those we once sought together.”

“There are better ways in which you can challenge yourself without attempting to overthrow the powers that be, Gellert.” Albus’ tone was patient and the words were clearly very familiar to him by this point as he eyed Grindelwald with that eternal hope for better glimmering still. “Believe me, teaching can be just as remarkable a challenge as any revolutionary path, though far less bloody.”     

Grindelwald laughed again, throwing one hand up in the air in an exasperated gesture. “You know that I do not only seek the greater good out of some petty desire for distraction. I seek to re-establish the natural order of things and to make a better world where wizarding folk can thrive without fear of the chaos and devastation that the Muggles will bring about. I have seen it, Albus. When have you ever known any of my visions to be false? You of all people are capable of recognising the war that will be unleashed, the destruction that shall reap the earth of its resources and magic until it brings about the end of us all. Not only will Muggles drive themselves into the ground, but they will cause the end of every creature in this world. Is it really worth all that destruction just to allow the Muggles a few more decades of ignorant autonomy?”       

Grindelwald’s mismatched eyes were blazing with a fierce passion that had been absent when he had tried to convince Newt of such things. It was as if he knew Dumbledore could better understand what he was saying and was more likely to concede his point because of that understanding.

“It isn’t our place to decide the fate of all based upon the visions of one man. Even should those visions come to pass, people often have a way of picking up the pieces and making something better from what remains.” Dumbledore’s voice was strong but veined with a sad kind of acceptance. “Just because we hold more power than Muggles does not mean that we are any the wiser or more deserving of free will.”

“Free will? Is that what you call their clueless existence?” Grindelwald replied incredulously. “Any time they witness the truth of things the Ministry have all memories of the wonders of magic removed from them, before releasing them back into their pitifully dull lives. How is that to be considered free will? How is being forced to hide from those oblivious fools better for anyone? It merely causes more pain on both sides. Just look at the Obscurial boy! Look at your sister! Were _they_ helped by the Ministries’ policies on keeping magic secret?”

Newt winced inwardly at the low-blow, but he couldn’t find himself entirely denying Grindelwald’s finer points. Of course, he still abhorred the wizard and his larger design of crushing the dissidents in his dreamed world under boot, but the points he made on the lack of free will and consequences the Ministerial policies had on people like Credence or Ariana…well he was kind of right. Newt could understand the indecision he saw present in Dumbledore’s weathered face – it was difficult to deny an argument when the finer points of it made sense.

But it didn’t stop Grindelwald from being a vile man intent upon subjugating others in his quest for power. No matter how well he phrased his argument, he could not get past how he aimed to achieve his idea of a ‘perfect’ world. The ends did not justify the means in those means meant the death and suffering of countless innocents. Newt would never shift from his stance on _that_ matter.   

And thankfully, neither would Albus it seemed, as he went on to speak in a quiet, steely voice, meeting Grindelwald’s blazing gaze with an equally resolute one of his own. “Your methods do not give your intentions credit, Gellert.” He released a huff of breath before continuing in a clear intonation of another’s written words. “ _It seems to me that a human being with the very best of intentions can do immeasurable harm_.”

Grindelwald’s lip curled in irritation but the fire in his gaze quelled a little, clearly recognising that his old partner would not concede his overall argument on the matter. Albus tilted his head to the side slightly as an uncharacteristic fury crept into his expression – one that left Newt startled at the suddenness and intensity of the emotion. “Any residual sympathy I may have had for your cause evaporated when you began to demonstrate the true depravity you were capable of.”

Grindelwald’s eyes shone then with a painfully familiar sadistic gleam – one that had Newt pressing himself ever so slightly tighter against the wall behind him. He felt the cold stone leaching the heat further from his trembling body through the thin material of his stained shirt. His wish to not be here increased desperately in that moment as he realised that Grindelwald was _definitely_ aware of his presence – even if he hadn’t caused it for once. Dumbledore, however, seemed to remain oblivious and Grindelwald did nothing to indicate to the other that there was anyone present in the room beside themselves.

“Oh, you mean what I did to our dear little Newt?” He smiled and it made the wizard in question shiver again, even though the dark wizard’s eyes were fixed upon Albus’ he still felt as though the words were being purposefully crafted to provoke him. “You should be grateful that I was able to do what was necessary to prepare him to bear the bond. I doubt he would have been nearly quite so quickly accepted had I not employed a little… fortification on his spirit.”

Albus’ eyes still burned but a new light had entered them – a defiant hope that left Newt confused. “On the contrary, Gellert, after witnessing what Newt endured, I discovered that the blood-pact may well have had him pegged as a suitable host – perfect even – from much earlier than you had intended.”

“And what is that meant to mean? It was not the pact that initiated the connection – it was me, as evidenced by the rather fetching mark that was left upon his flesh.” Newt’s right hand went subconsciously to brush against the covered scars on his left arm through the fabric, not sure if he was imagining the prickling sensation that shot down it.

Albus released a huff of unamused breath with a shake of his head. “I had thought you were better versed with the nature of the blood-pact than I due to your prolonged exposure and influence over it. But it seems I was mistaken. When Newt first touched the binding pendant, I was able to witness the memories it presented him with – our memories, Gellert – and it was then that I realised the connection had established itself even before that.”

Both Newt and Grindelwald frowned in confusion as Albus shook his head in apparent incredulity at his own realisations. “On one of the numerous occasions you attempted to force answers from him, the pact apparently sensed the presence of the perfect host and that was what prompted him to answer you quite as honestly as he did on the subject of our relationship. Events were orientated by the pact’s desire to seek a new, more empathetic, capable vessel. A desire, I believe, may have been formed from years of our combined intentions – a desire to be still connected but in a less objectively binding way. It seems that, as ever, your more cognizant intentions were overweighed by your ulterior ones.”

“And, what do you propose is my so-called ulterior intention?” Grindelwald snarled, an eyebrow raised and bemusement still clear upon his face.

Albus let out a bitter huff of laughter and shook his head again. “I would say you already knew exactly what it was, Gellert, but experience has taught me that you wouldn’t recognise it if it was right in front of you. Even when it still was.” The smile that Albus gave him was heart-breaking in its profound sorrow, a bitterness that gave way to reluctant acceptance.

Grindelwald looked ready to scoff at the meaning all in the room sensed even if it was left unspoken, but then something odd flashed across his pale face and Newt could have sworn that just for a moment, one tiny second; his mismatched eyes met his own. The contact – real or not – was gone before he could really register it and the younger man was left with an odd, hollow though not entirely unwarm feeling inside his chest. He couldn’t name it, but it slipped away almost as quickly as the dark wizard’s gaze.

“Don’t make unfounded assumptions, my dear Albus.” His tone was now cold, detached sounding with a familiar hint of malice running through it. “It makes me fear for your state of intellectual deterioration all the more.”  

Albus looked away then, as if disappointed in Grindelwald’s lack of receptiveness to his attempts to bring out something, _anything_ human in him. He glanced down at the stack of books that resided between them before briefly meeting the dark wizard’s purposefully cold gaze with a pitying, almost pleading one. “Enjoy the books, Gellert. I hope they provide you with a better distraction than stooping so low as to invading Mr Scamander’s sleep.”

Newt jerked his head slightly up at that, wondering for a moment if the elder wizard was in fact aware of his presence, but if he was, he didn’t show any signs of it. Grindelwald smirked again, though it too held the same cold maliciousness. “Oh, he told you about that little trick, did he? Well, did he also happen to mention that he practically invited me in in the first place?”

Newt frowned at the wizard and he couldn’t deny how Grindelwald’s gaze was most certainly meeting his over Dumbledore’s shoulder now as he continued in a goading tone. “I wouldn’t have been able to initiate it had he not been dreaming of me in the first place. Seems that our little Newt isn’t quite as innocent as you might want to believe, Albus.”         

Newt glared fiercely at Grindelwald - even were that true, the only reason Grindelwald would ever appear in his dreams would be as nightmares induced by trauma. The way the dark wizard phrased it made it sound like Newt shared his… obsession which was most certainly _not_ the case. Grindelwald obviously sensed Newt’s protest as his smirk widened, though keeping up the pretence of addressing only Albus. “My intentions towards anyone but yourself remain between myself and those in question – I don’t believe you should have any say in how I should be able to interact with the one remaining link I hold to the outside world.” He tilted his head to the side slightly and regarded Albus with a cold, taunting humour. “If you didn’t want me to take advantage of such a connection then you should have killed me when you had the chance.” He took a step closer so that were nearly nose-to-nose “But as it is, there is precisely _nothing_ you can do to prevent the inevitable.”

Albus’ eyebrows were raised, and he looked only a fraction of the concern and confusion that Newt was experiencing. What the hell was that meant to mean? What did Grindelwald think was inevitable? His escape? That either Newt or Dumbledore might eventually agree with him? Something else that Newt wasn’t aware of? _Or something you don’t want to acknowledge?_   

Why couldn’t either of these men just be bluntly helpful? Like Percival was. Why did they have to skirt around answers and truths like this? **(Cause ‘dramatic’ tension, that’s why, sorry Cinnamon roll)** It was all just irritating and confusing. Newt gritted his teeth but remained silent and still in his corner – he wasn’t sure why Grindelwald hadn’t tried to make Albus aware of Newt’s presence or if he even could, but Newt wasn’t going to rise to the dark wizard’s bate by engaging him. This was probably just some stupid tactic to alleviate his boredom and taunt both Dumbledore and Newt in the process. He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had gotten to him. _Not like he already doesn’t know that._  

Albus merely fixed Grindelwald with an inscrutable gaze before turning on the spot and disappearing into thin air. Newt wished he could follow him as Grindelwald then turned his full attention to his young cellmate. “Well now, it’s nice that we have this opportunity to have a proper conversation isn’t it?”  

Newt huffed out an incredulous breath, pressing himself back imperceptibly further into the wall, wishing he could just sink through it. Dealing with Grindelwald’s silent, invasive presence had been bad enough but being faced with a fully audible version of the wizard was much worse – his true power was in his words after all. Why couldn’t Dumbledore have realised that Newt was there? Why couldn’t he have returned Grindelwald to his silent state? Had he forgotten or had he not thought it necessary? Whatever the case, Newt didn’t intend to respond if he could help it – it might prompt him to just give up and leave him alone. _Yeah, right._

Grindelwald smirked at him and took a few steps forward, hands clasped behind his back once more but no hurry in his movements. He still couldn’t touch Newt – that was one mercy at least. He couldn’t escape. That was what was important.

A sudden thought flashed into Newt’s mind however as he realised that he could now directly communicate with Grindelwald. Percival had mentioned something in his letter about wishing he could pre-empt Grindelwald’s plans and attacks, hadn’t he? Newt was now in a suspiciously convenient position that he might be able to use to his advantage – Grindelwald was clearly bored and loved to hear the sound of his own voice… maybe Newt could work the situation in his favour and get answers to his questions. He would have to do it in a careful manner, but it could work if he played this out right.

Grindelwald had underestimated him before and maybe, just _maybe_ he could get answers that could help Percival and Theseus save people’s lives or prevent further catastrophe from occurring. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do with his time trapped in here with Grindelwald. The wizard would likely keep on verbally prodding him until he snapped anyway, so why not pre-empt him by pretending to play nice, at least enough to get a verbal dialogue going. Merlin’s beard this wasn’t likely to be at all pleasant.   

He forced himself to look up at the elder wizard as he stopped about a foot or so in front of him, schooling his expression into one that didn’t betray the true extent of his distaste for the man. Grindelwald seemed mildly amused by this and tilted his head before speaking again. “Feeling a bit more talkative, are we? Your dull-witted brother not offering enough of a challenge in that department?”

Newt forced himself to give a huff of amused breath. “Theseus has never been one for much conversation when it comes to me – he usually prefers to just yell.”

“Yes, he did seem to be of a more aggressive disposition than yourself.” Newt released a genuine snort of laughter at that – rich words indeed coming from a man who resorted to inflicting violence any time he didn’t get his way. He felt that he could get away with hinting as much, thinking of the times previously when Grindelwald had seemed to find amusement in his little rebellions and dry humour.

“I’m sure anyone would react similarly had they taken it upon themselves to try to ‘keep me out of trouble’.” He said the last part in a feeble mimic to his elder brother’s pompous tone. “I understand it’s a full-time occupation from how Theseus paints it.”

“I can only imagine, Liebling,” Grindelwald said, deadpan and Newt chuckled nervously, gaze still fixed somewhere upon Grindelwald’s shoulder. Eyes were dangerous.  

“I trust that you are sufficiently recovered to be tending to your menagerie judging from your…unkempt state.” He phrased the statement as more of a question and Newt glanced down at his grubby clothes and brushed a hand self-consciously through his dishevelled hair, finding a piece of straw that he flicked to the floor embarrassedly.   

“Well enough.” He answered shortly, not wanting to prompt any discussion that may be playing upon Grindelwald’s mind over how he came to be in a state where he needed recovery in the first place 

“And your beasts, they are well?” The question was phrased almost awkwardly, as if the dark wizard was unused to enquiring on such matters or making small talk about things that weren’t directly linked to works of dark wizardly scale evil. The thought made humour rise in Newt a bit and he translated that into a forcibly lighter tone as he replied.

“None the worse for having been left motherless for a few weeks.”

Grindelwald raised an eyebrow at that and asked with some sceptical amusement. “You think of yourself as being their mother?”  

“Well, they do of me, so I suppose it’s as true as anything else and to be honest I rather prefer it that way – many magical species see no value of the males so eat them.”

“And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” Grindelwald commented with a darker element running through the dry humour in his tone. Newt swallowed and flicked his fringe out of his eyes with one hand, it just so happened to be his left and the silver lines upon the back of his hand seemed to catch Grindelwald’s eagle-eyed gaze.  

Newt paused in the movement, hurriedly bringing his arm back down to his side and pulling the edge of his sleeve down over his hand as best he could, but not really succeeding as the garment was too small already. Grindelwald took another step forward, reaching his own hand out as if to take Newt’s arm before clearly remembering that he couldn’t, causing a slight curl of his lip. Mismatched eyes sought out Newt’s reluctant blue ones and he forced himself to meet them – not to shy away in obvious aversion of the man.

“Show me, Liebling.” His voice was suddenly softer, and Newt repressed a shudder, shaking his head. Refusing to show Grindelwald the damage the had been inflicted wasn’t entirely a pointless defiance so hopefully wouldn’t clue him in on Newt’s intentions.

“If you show me your arm, I might be inclined to tell you of some arrangements concerning a certain head of department within the British Ministry of Magic.” Newt’s head jerked up violently at the words, feeling dread constrict his chest at the thought of what might happen to his brother. There was no doubt in his mind that that was what Grindelwald was referring to. But he felt further concern swirl within him that the dark wizard had apparently seen Newt’s intentions much sooner than he had hoped. He wasn’t entirely surprised as he had always been a rotten liar as well as being a bit rubbish with subtlety. Grindelwald was bound to have realised what Newt was trying to do sooner rather than later.

“What have you done?” he asked, voice a fierce whisper.

“Nothing of course. How could I have done anything from my ever so helpless position in here?” his reply was mocking dark humour, gesturing at large to the cell with both hands spread wide. Newt found himself gritting his teeth harder.

“What have your _fanatics_ done then? What did you tell them to do?”

“I’ll tell you exactly what I requested my followers do and how to prevent it.” He spoke firmly, taking yet another step closer, Grindelwald’s face now on level with Newt’s slumped, grubby shoulders. Voice dropping into a low pitch as he finished, a smirk pulling at his pale lips “All you have to do is show me the mark, mein haustier.”

Newt shrank back slightly, feeling trapped and as if he were missing something that would come back to bite him later. Grindelwald clearly noticed his reluctance and huffed out a breath of laughter. “Is that really so much to ask? One, small favour in return for your brother’s continued wellbeing?”

Despite knowing that he had no way to keep Grindelwald to his word… but just showing him the scars on his arm couldn’t hurt, could it? It didn’t mean anything, right? Begrudgingly, Newt moved to roll up the sleeve of his shirt but was prompted to halt in the action as Grindelwald tutted. “I meant your _whole_ arm, Liebling. I want to see it all.”

Realising what he meant, Newt flushed in humiliation and anger, moving shaking, furious fingers to the buttons of his shirt and pulling them through from the material rapidly; intent on getting this over with as quickly as he could. _It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not anything he hasn’t seen before. He’s just trying to exert power over you because he knows he can. It’s just a pointless power-play. A bit of dignity isn’t worth your brother’s life._ Newt concentrated hard on those thoughts as he slid the material from his left shoulder, keeping it covering as much of the rest of him as he could. Just slipping it off enough so that Grindelwald could see where the strands of swirling silver and glass ended, branching across his shoulder and ending at the base of his collar bone then all the way back down to the tips of his fingers.

He kept his gaze stubbornly straight forward even as his face flushed further under Grindelwald’s faithless gaze. Newt could feel the man’s eyes tracing every inch of exposed flesh before him but tried not to think of it that way – tried to just think of _why_ he was doing this. Unbidden, images of similar circumstances flickered through his mind and he felt his shuddering intensify as he thought of precisely what had happened the last time he had been so exposed and close to the wizard. Standing under that same faithless gaze as Grindelwald caressed every muscle, scar and bit of skin he could reach and completely unable to move. Lying trapped underneath that same man as his face flickered from painful familiarity to familiarity and he _bit_ and _sucked_ and _choked_ … Newt gasped for breath, eyes watering and he closed them tightly, shuddering and forcing himself to focus on his grounding memory. _See, just like this, in and out, nice and slow._ Newt managed to match the memory Percival’s warm eyes and even pace and forced his own eyes to open again after a few minutes.

Grindelwald was regarding him with an odd, intense look. The intensity wasn’t the odd part of course – that was normal for him – no, it was the confusion and surprise. He seemed almost disappointed, though, with what, Newt wasn’t sure. The dark wizard quickly schooled his expression back into his usual imperious, cold blankness however and took a merciful step back. Newt took it as a sign that the humiliation was over, even if Grindelwald wasn’t entirely satisfied with what he had seen, and hastily redressed himself, wincing as the coarse material brushed over the scars.        

“You may wish to advise your brother to not accept any deliveries that come to his home for the next few days. I’d hurry were I you, Newton, who knows how efficient the postal service is nowadays. But I’m sure that someone of your particular experience will be able to rectify anything _unfortunate_ that may occur.” Grindelwald’s wink and smirk prompted further fear from Newt before he suddenly found himself being sucked back up through the ceiling and into his rousing body. He jerked up out of the cot, ignoring the flares of pain that the motion prompted and staggered in a dead-legged run to leave his shed and ascend the ladder back into his living room. He closed the clasps on his case quickly and paused for a second before picking it up.  

Newt forced himself to move as quickly as he could despite the vestiges of stiffness, exhaustion and pain lingering in his body as he bounded across the house and flung himself out of the front door. The second he was able he apparated hastily to the outside of Theseus’ own house, almost collapsing onto the stone patio outside the back kitchen door as more pain ripped through him. In his hurry and careless feat of wandless apparition he had managed to minorly splinch himself, a chunk of flesh now being missing from his left calf, the resulting blood staining his already dirty brown trousers a dark maroon. Newt didn’t pause to survey the damage for long, however, as he forced himself to keep on moving. He had to warn Theseus - who knows when or where the dangerous delivery from Grindelwald’s minions might have appeared. What if the man had been lying to him and it was already too late?

“Theseus?!” He yelled, looking frantically around the kitchen but not seeing anyone there, thinking of earlier, he vaulted into the hall and up the stairs towards Theseus’ room. He knocked rapidly on the door for a few moments before a disgruntled and dishevelled looking Theseus opened it, wearing only a red brocade dressing gown and frowning at his younger brother blearily, pulling the door promptly shut behind him.

“What in the name of Merlin’s ass do you want, Newt? Some of us are trying to sleep you know.” The grumble was soon followed by a look of concern however as his brother clearly twigged onto Newt’s distress and took in his dishevelled state and zeroed in on the blood on his leg. “What the hell happened?”

“Theseus, did you get a package or letter or anything? Something delivered here or to the Ministry that you haven’t opened yet? It’s important that you get rid of it _now_.”

He asked in a rush, voice tight with concern and Theseus’ face registered confusion for a moment before fear flashed over it sharply. “Shit.”

He turned and flung the door back open just as a surprised and pained cry rent the air. Both Scamanders rushed over to where Tina was sat on the edge of Theseus’ bed, a sheet wrapped around her body for modesty. But neither brother was concerned with her state of undress or the implications that it made to Newt, as they saw the bright copper-coloured substance that was leaking out of a warded envelope onto Tina’s hands and soaking through the sheet onto the tops of her legs. The liquid was smoking, and Tina cried out in pain, salamander-like eyes filling with tears as it seeped over her skin, not burning but causing nasty sores to appear at an alarming rate across her skin. Newt cursed and pushed Theseus back as he recognised _exactly_ what the stuff was. It was a cruel joke indeed on Grindelwald’s part that he should choose such a punishment – especially seeing who it ended up actually hurting. 

“What the _hell_ is that stuff Newt? What’s going on?!” Theseus asked as Newt rushed forwards, relieved that he had trusted his instinct to bring his case along with him and knelt down beside the hysterical Tina, being careful not to touch the affected areas.    

“Peruvian Vipertooth venom. It’s not corrosive, but it is what is better known to cause Dragonpox. I know it hurts and I’m so sorry, Tina, but I can help. Just stay calm and don’t move.” Tina nodded shakily at him as purple pustules continued to sprout from her now green-tinged hands and upper legs. Knowing that her parents had died of Dragonpox, Newt could only imagine how horrible it must be for her to be experiencing such a violent, concentrated reaction right now. Fortunately, knowing more than most about dragons he kept a course of the treatment in his case and knew that while her recovery would not be an instantaneous one, she would at least live and hopefully not retain any scarring.

“I’ll be right back,” Newt promised, unlatching his case and clambered down the ladder, calling up to Theseus as he did so. “Whatever you do, don’t touch her.”

He hurried to his potion store cupboard, ignoring the blood and agony still shooting down his leg and the ache in his muscles as he collected the needed vials, thick gloves and a salve. Making it back up the ladder and out of his case with his injuries and an armful of breakable items was no easy task, but he managed it in the face of what Tina was going through mere feet above him. _Because of him._ He could hear Tina sobbing quietly and Theseus consoling her in a panicked, beleaguered tone. The young magizoologist hauled his abused body over the top of his case and knelt awkwardly, lopsidedly down on the wooden floor beside where Tina was still sat, hiccupping slightly and shaking.

Newt pulled on the gloves, removing the stopper of the vial with his teeth as he did so and began to slowly, carefully pour the greenish substance over her hands and legs which resulted in more smoke and a choked cry from the Auror. He spat out the cork and brought up the next vial – this one filled with a whiteish-orange liquid - to Tina’s lips, she only paused for a moment before allowing him to pour it down her throat. She grimaced at the bitter taste and shuddered but seemed to relax slightly as the smoking and bubbling of her skin ceased.

The pustules remained, but no new ones had begun to appear. Lastly, Newt removed the cap of the jar of brown salve and used his own gloved hands to carefully apply a generous amount to the affected areas. The ointment should dull any pain and hopefully prevent too much scarring. Advancements had been made since Gunhilda de Gorsemoor’s treatment had been discovered but it could still prove fatal in many cases – especially if left untreated.

Usually, the disease was caused by infection from another person, but Newt had had to deal with direct venom-to-wizard infection before in his time in the war, when the _genius’_ in command had attempted to utilise the venom as a biological weapon. That had, of course, ended in more deaths from Dragonpox than had been practical for those in charge and Newt had been decidedly relieved when they had relented to his pleas to not use such methods. That had only been after no less than twelve deaths and Newt had made a habit of keeping treatment materials in his case ever since.

Had Grindelwald known that Newt would be able to treat it? Had he purposefully sent a type of danger that only someone like Newt could have dealt with so quickly? If so, then why? Was this all just a game to him – the lives of Newt’s friends? Of course, it was. The man had no soul. In fact, Newt honestly wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Grindelwald had intended for Tina to be the intended victim instead of Theseus. Either way, Newt felt decidedly nauseous as he carefully pulled off his gloves, picking up the vials and salves to place them on the nearby dresser with a mumbled instruction for Theseus to get Tina to drink the tonic at least twice a day and dress the sores without touching her skin. He felt numb as he stumbled from the room, pushing through the door to his own allotted room and collapsing his body onto the bed.

He wouldn’t sleep. Didn’t want to. Couldn’t stand the thought of returning to see the smug satisfaction he would likely witness on Grindelwald’s face.  

He had saved Tina and Theseus but had played into some new scheme of Grindelwald’s by doing so. Only this time, he had no clue what exactly the dark wizard’s ultimate aim was. Did he intend to keep on gaining favours from Newt by threatening his friends? Was he simply bored and thought it was entertaining to taunt Newt like this? Did he intend to kill off his friends one by one in increasingly cruel ways? Who would be next if so? Or did he just want to watch Newt run himself ragged and mad trying to prevent the inevitable? Was that what he had meant before?

It was all so bloody confusing, and it made Newt’s throbbing head hurt all the more. He pressed a hand over his eyes in a vain attempt to repress the headache he could feel forming but also trying desperately not to fall asleep. His leg throbbed in pain with his pulse, but he didn’t really have the energy to crawl back into his case to find something to alleviate the pain. He missed his wand and promptly reminded himself to get a new one as soon as he could.  

The young man was almost grateful for the distraction when the bedroom door was abruptly pushed open a few minutes later and Theseus stormed in, slamming the door shut firmly behind him. Newt levered himself up stiffly into a sitting position, wincing but meeting Theseus’ confused, furious gaze with a tired, apologetic one of his own. “What was that about? How did you know that letter was boobytrapped?”  

Newt sighed and replied in a cautious, careful tone “It was meant for you, but she should be alright as long as she takes the potions as I suggested.”

“ _Newt_.” Theseus growled, clearly annoyed at his evasiveness and Newt sighed again, avoiding eye-contact and focussing his tired eyes on the bedspread instead.

“It was Grindelwald. He didn’t want to actually kill anyone… I don’t think, because he warned me about it.”     

“What? How the hell could you know that? Has Grindelwald escaped? Did Dumbledore tell you something? What aren’t you telling me?”

Newt felt flustered under Theseus’ intense barrage of questions and spurted out the first half-assed explanation that came to his mind “Um no, he uh, said something before that I j-just remembered now, and um put the p-pieces together.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me, Newt! I know he didn’t say anything about planning postal bloody Dragonpox attacks. I’ve been in your damn memories remember?” Newt ducked his head ashamedly at Theseus’ anger and blunt words, swallowing and continuing to study the bedspread as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen. He heard his elder brother release a furious, grit-teeth breath and then inhaled through his nose a few times before speaking in a forcibly calm tone. “Newt, I need to know if I should expect any more attacks from supposedly incarcerated dark wizards. I _need_ to know what you picked up on that I obviously missed.”

Newt considered telling Theseus that he had an unbreakable, unavoidable mental connection with Gellert Grindelwald but even in his imagined best-case scenario he pictured at least three broken objects and more protective, useless hovering than he felt up to dealing with. As long as Newt could continue to warn him of any more attacks or dangers before they happened, there wasn’t really any reason to worry his brother with the finer details. He remained resolutely silent.

“What in the name of Merlin’s most baggy Y-fronts am I meant to do with you, Newt?” The question was quietly worded, and Newt flinched a bit at the clear pain he could hear in his brother’s voice despite the poorly timed attempt at humour.    

“Thes, just… trust that if I… remember anything else then I’ll warn you before anyone gets seriously hurt.” The words were an equally quiet promise.

“Newt-” he cut himself off, throwing one hand in the air before turning in a slow circle, that hand pressed to his mouth in clear frustration. He seemed to visibly work on calming himself again for a minute and turned back to crouch before where Newt sat on the edge of the bed. The young magizoologist started when he felt his brother’s hand closed firmly around his ankle and looked down in astonishment to see Theseus brusquely pulling up the trouser leg of his injured leg. Newt hissed in pain as the rough wool of his trousers slid over the open wound. Glancing closer at it, he was relieved to note that it was only maybe an inch of flesh that was missing from his calf, though it was still bleeding quite a bit. It could’ve been much worse.

Theseus tutted slightly before withdrawing his wand from his dressing gown pocket and waving it over the wound, murmuring _“Vulnera Sanentur!”_ and then “ _Tergeo!”_ Which cleared up the congealing blood around the now mostly healed wound. Being rather used to the constant companion of pain by this point, Newt barely winced but offered his brother a thin smile.

“Thanks, Thee.”

“Idiot.” Theseus muttered fondly, though still with clear exasperation as he stood and went to leave the room.

Newt, with nothing better to do to stave off his boredom, grabbed a sheet of parchment and Percival’s engraved pen from the bedside table and began to compose a reply. 


	9. Chapter 9

**“I'm a little tired and feeling hazy, I just need to rest my eyes, but I won't go to sleep because it's crazy, what happens to me in the night. Coz when I go to deep into my slumber, ugly faces, awful places I don't want to go.... no…**

**I found myself slipping away, just this side of dead, I woke up in a box car, I wasn't in my bed. I found my leg chained to a spike, that ran down through the floor, attached to thirteen angry men, all rotten to the core. But I’m innocent I cried right out, I'm in someone else's dream, they looked around and laughed out loud, said "brother, so are we", "yeah brother, so are we." So all that I remember, is how much my body hurt, now I’m sleeping in the graveyard.” – ‘The Nightmare Returns’ and ‘A Runaway Train’– Alice Cooper (connected songs ya see)**

Newt managed maybe three days before his exhausted body forced him to sleep again. He had tried, he really had – distracting himself by caring for his creatures with even more enthusiasm than usual, helping Jacob and Queenie with the wedding preparations and the bakery setup as well as birthing the Mooncalves. But the unfortunate side-effect of working so hard to keep himself distracted and aware was that it just wore him down quicker. It was a losing battle from the very start as the more he did the more he exhausted himself and if he tried to just rest for a little while he would begin to drift off and would then have to jerk himself awake again.

Pepper-up potions had worked for a while but had interfered with effects of the healing potions he was still taking so he had to drop one of them and eventually chose the healing potions as being his priority. Everything hurt too much without them. The young magizoologist knew that this friends and brother could tell something was wrong and kept on asking him what was bothering him, but he didn’t really want to bother them with something they couldn’t change. There was nothing they could do to prevent him from seeing Grindelwald again and there wasn’t really anything Newt could do either. Not even Dumbledore could help him with this personal struggle.

When he slipped through the ceiling of Nuremberg castle this time, he had been slumped upon Theseus’ sofa in the living room, cup of tea in hand, but even the spill of the still warm liquid wasn't enough to wake him as he dozed off. He dropped into his customary corner of the cell, feeling trepidation but relaxing ever so slightly as he saw that Grindelwald was sitting against the opposite wall, legs stretched out leisurely in front of him and a book in his hands. It looked to be the journal on Eugenics that Dumbledore had mentioned before and Grindelwald’s pale face held a mildly amused, dubious look as he flicked through the pages, clearly skimming passages and skipping sections. Newt didn’t say a word, sliding down the wall to huddle in a crouched position as he usually would, feeling fatigue pulling at his eyelids, causing them to droop, but still fighting the compulsion to fall deeper asleep than he already was. He wasn’t sure what happened when he fell asleep within a dream around Grindelwald, but he didn’t really want to risk doing it again. Not anything that made him anymore vulnerable to the man’s tricks and invasions.

Without looking up from the book, Grindelwald called nonchalantly across the room, causing Newt’s head to jerk up slightly and tense. “You did well, Newt but I would really rather you didn’t hurt yourself further.” He looked up then, offering a sly yet oddly kind seeming smile – like a parody of warm affection. “That’s my prerogative after all.”   

Exhausted brain not able to properly filter the snappy response that rose to his lips, Newt glared and bit out. “Can you try _not_ being a malicious git for two seconds? Is it really so difficult?”

Grindelwald let his mouth fall open in a mocking ‘o’ of surprise at the retort, closing the book in his lap and smirking widely – clearly relishing the much more interesting distraction that Newt was presenting him with. The younger wizard cursed himself inwardly for engaging with the dark wizard but also feeling far too crabby and put upon to restrain the long-repressed animosity he felt for Grindelwald.

“Language, Newton, really, what would your dear Professor Dumbledore say?” Grindelwald asked, raising a scolding, sceptical eyebrow at him and Newt huffed in annoyance.

“Honestly, I think at this point he rather wants to say something similar to you but is afraid you’ll order the attack of an orphanage or something equally as atrocious if he annoys you too much.”

“Do you really think so little of me?” Grindelwald’s brows were raised higher than he’d ever seen them go and while he seemed impressed at Newt’s gumption, he also seemed a bit hurt. The thought annoyed Newt even more so at the mere idea he could pretend to feel offended that anyone would believe him capable of such evil. He had no right to expect a better reputation from anyone – especially not from Newt.

“Yes.” Newt’s reply was quick and cutting and he took a bit of satisfaction at the hurt flashing across Grindelwald’s face again, the twitch of his lip and the creases around his eyes.   

There was a long pause before Grindelwald asked in an astoundingly hesitant, though clearly clinically curious voice “Your brother… he is recovering?”

Newt snorted out a bitter, angry huff of air through his nose and rubbed a hand wearily across his face. “Like you care.”

“Admittedly, I don’t, but it bothers you.”

Newt’s head snapped up again and he fixed the dark wizard with an incredulous glare. “Don’t act like you care what bothers me, you never have before.”   

“That was because it was only your own suffering, Newton, you care far more about the wellbeing of those around you than your own. It’s an unhealthy habit, one that I intend to break you of.”     

“What in Merlin’s name is that meant to mean?” Newt snapped          

“I wanted to see how you responded to another’s suffering rather than your own. I was curious to see how you would react, and your brother seemed the perfect test subject as he is rather hardier than some of your other… friends.” Grindelwald tilted his head to the side, regarding Newt with a reminiscent smile twitching his pale lips. “Of course, you saw what I did to dear Percy and you responded just as I had hoped you would – very perceptive and sweet, Liebling. But I wanted to see what you might do with something a bit more familiar, when you were in a better position to do something about it.”

Newt was gaping in appalled disbelief at him, at the idea that Grindelwald was experimenting on him using the suffering of his friends to gauge a reaction. What had he said to Newt before? _“Pain is honest.”_ He was trying to get to know Newt better by seeing how he reacted to the threatening of his friends. It was deplorable and Newt would not stand for it, he fixed a harsh, wide-eyed glare upon the dark wizard. “You once said to me that you wouldn’t hurt my friends. Obviously, your word doesn’t mean that much to you.”

Grindelwald seemed to grow frustrated at this and replied impatiently, irritably. “None of them are dead, are they? I knew you were capable of taking care of the situation – it was exactly why I chose the venom I did. I could have ordered Rosier to use anything else; something without a cure or treatment, but I didn’t. You should be grateful for the challenge of your skills, Newt. I dare say you haven’t felt such proper motivation and validation in some time. As I told Albus; great minds require challenge of they will stagnate. Your skills are no different.”

Newt gaped at him for a few moments and then shook his head in numb disbelief, fixing his gaze on the floor in front of him so he didn’t have to face the unhinged wizard across from him. This was just bloody ridiculous. Trying to justify his actions as doing a favour for Newt or claiming that it could have been worse was not a sane thing to do. He was just as deranged as ever it seemed, even with the odd sort of affection he seemed to have for Newt it appeared to be just another outlet for his sadistic, insane whims.   

“He didn’t suffer greatly did he? There’s no need to sulk, Newt.”    

Newt glanced up with steely hatred in his eyes and bit out. “It wasn’t Theseus who was hurt. It was Tina and she’ll be fine, but it doesn’t make what you did any better.”

Grindelwald’s brows creased slightly, and he looked a tad repentant, but more disappointed that his bloody experiment had likely been disrupted. “I had not foreseen the likelihood of Miss Goldstein getting quite so close to your brother as to be opening his mail for him, so I apologise for her involvement.” His eyes flickered oddly for a moment. “Her parents died of Dragonpox did they not? That was not my intention to inflict such a… specific or familiar suffering. I assure you that my intent was to test your own skills. Tina always was showing up where she was least wanted, so I can’t admit I’m entirely surprised to hear of her…  invasion of your home life.”

“Tina’s relationship with my brother isn’t really any of my business and it’s certainly none of yours.” Newt stated firmly, not looking at Grindelwald as he heard a low chuckle.     

“This would be the second time he has stolen the subject of your affections wouldn’t it? Should our dear Percival begin watching his backside in future?”

Newt refused to rise to the bate and instead clenched his hands into such tight fists that the scars on his left hand stood out and pulled painfully on the backs of his knuckles and fingers. He heard another chuckle and the sound of cloth and leather shifting against stone as Grindelwald adjusted his position on the ground, putting the book to the side. “If you should feel the need to talk about anything concerning Percival you must admit that I’m probably the best person you could come to for such advice. I did get to know him _quite_ intimately after all.”

Newt’s eyes bugged out of their sockets as he met Grindelwald’s challenging, mocking yet somehow also genuine seeming expression. He couldn’t believe that Grindelwald would make such an offer or that he would class torturing answers out of someone as knowing them ‘intimately’. Though looking at the dark wizard’s track record, Newt supposed it might be the only way he could get to know anyone, he may have a silver tongue but being as intimidating, intense and creepy as he was, he probably still had trouble. _Or is he just like that with you, Newt?_

He huffed out another incredulous breath and banged his head back against the wall with a soft thump. “No thank you. I make a point of not accepting courtship advice from someone who feeds someone their own father to them in a deranged attempt to show affection.”

He shuddered as the biting words left him but was satisfied to see the hurt that flashed over Grindelwald’s face again. This wasn’t like him – he didn’t usually take pleasure in making anyone feel bad, not even someone as deplorable as Grindelwald but even someone as patient and caring as Newt had their thresholds. He was exhausted, angry, in pain and too mentally strained over far too long a time to pretend that he cared about Grindelwald’s feelings. Not after what he had done. _Or maybe Grindelwald is just starting to rub off on you._ Merlin’s beard, he hoped that wasn’t the case.

“I will admit that I may… have gone a little far by presenting it to you in such a way, but you can’t deny that you and your brother are not better off without him.”  

“No one deserves to die like that. No one deserves _that_.” Newt choked out, voice firm but still fighting the rising horror in him, eyes fixed on Grindelwald’s shiny leather boots.

“Not even someone like me?” Gellert’s voice was so soft that Newt was prompted to meet his gaze with something other than a glare, it wasn’t quite pity he felt but it wasn’t entirely repulsion either.

“I-… uh… no.” Newt stammered out before finishing equally as softly - honestly. “Not even you.”

He could have sworn that he saw genuine gratitude in Gellert’s mismatched eyes for a moment before the cold blankness swept back over them again and he picked up another book from the stack beside him. Newt regarded him suspiciously for a few minutes, gauging whether he was actually reading or if he was just pretending, but eventually gave up trying to guess as weariness pulled at his eyelids more insistently. Newt shifted in his awkward position against the wall and gradually let his eyes slip closed, even if he had wanted to, he couldn’t have fought the overwhelming need to find proper sleep.

It seemed that, at least for now, Gellert was content to let him rest undisturbed. _He can’t touch you. All he can do is watch._ For once, the voice in the back of his mind offered some comfort in it’s bluntness and Newt took what little relief he could by falling into a deeper slumber. One where even Grindelwald’s mismatched, penetrating eyes did not follow him. Or at least, not that he was aware of.   

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Gellert sat, continuing to skim his astute eyes across the words on the pages in front of him until he was fully sure that his young cellmate was fully asleep before turning his gaze back to regard the slumbering man. He enjoyed watching the tension leak from Newt’s frame in this deepest form of sleep, no hatred or fear present in those pretty blue eyes or a purposeful slump in his slim, wiry shoulders. Just the relaxed, elegant beauty of an innocent at peace. One that had been battered into the ground so many times but just kept on springing back up. It was truly remarkable. Just the sort of beautiful strength and flexibility that he needed. He had never realised just how much he admired those qualities until he began to properly meet Newt Scamander.

Albus had been similarly strong once but far too malleable to be properly suited to Gellert – the kind of man that would alter himself to suit the one he loved even if it challenged his morals. Albus had since hardened admirably in his stance but more by way of reluctant, efforted resistance that stemmed from regret. Having to constantly fight against his better nature to cater to the whims of the world he sought to reside in and protect. Newt, however, was resolute on certain fronts – his abhorrence of death and his resistance to Gellert’ advances in terms of the greater good. His recalcitrance was pure; the result of an eternally capable heart rather than learned regret and it just seemed so much more… palatable to Grindelwald.

Challenging Newt was both entertaining and heartening for Gellert to witness. He could admit that he found amusement in witnessing Newt’s struggles to keep up with things that left him fighting to keep his head above the surface. It was truly remarkable to witness but it also made Gellert all the more certain that the boy belonged with him - _to_ him. It would take time to convince him of that, of course, but if nothing else, Gellert was patient.

Graves and Albus were clearly obstacles that would be have to be removed but Grindelwald had already begun to shake the threads he had attached to them, subtle enough so that they wouldn’t realise what had happened until it was too late. None of them would. They were fools to think that simply locking him up – even as physically inescapably as Albus had done – that his plans would simply be derailed by his incarceration. His followers had their orders, had done for some time now and he trusted in their loyalty to carry them out as he expected. Gellert had his own ways of convincing them that he was still in control and that should prove enough of a deterrent for anything of the cowards amongst them. Even should one fail, there was always another waiting in the wings. That was the beauty of obtaining true loyalty and not through obvious coercion – if people believed in your cause strongly enough than they would want to _want_ to follow out his orders.   

Most people weren’t puzzles, not as complex or interesting as Albus might like to believe they were. There was no need to wonder ‘what-if’ once Gellert’s plans had been set into action, he already foresaw most of the probable outcomes either through his own intellect or through his Seers powers. Put in place enough contingency plans and no matter what happened or how any one person might react, it wouldn’t ultimately matter all that much. Gellert would always win – his intentions and ideals were mirrored by so many that the changes he sought were inevitable. The only time he had encountered something that defied his expectations had been Newt, who seemed to do exactly that with pleasing irregularity.

Gellert enjoyed taunting him to provoke those delicious little rebellions and refreshing kicks of courage that pushed his sinking head back above the surface as he struggled ever onwards. There was a very small part of him that wanted to push him just that little bit _too far_ and watch him drown, but Gellert resisted the temptation. He didn’t want to do that to his little Newt, not when he presented such a _delicious_ challenge that came wrapped in an equally attractive package.

One that just so happened to also be one that could be used to further punish Albus for his treachery and dishonesty to himself. He knew that Albus still agreed with him - still cared for him but refused to act upon it because he was trying to pretend to be something he wasn’t. Like Gellert, he was better than those around him and knew exactly how to influence them to his will but refused to admit it to himself. Tried to pretend that he hadn’t stooped as low as Gellert had and trying to maintain an air of moral superiority - it was sickening. And to waste the potential of his power, mind and the Elder wand? Truly deplorable. Honestly, how could Newt think him to be a monster when his own mentor was refusing to use the immense power at his fingertips to resolves the issues of the world. It was pitiful weakness. Let the scholars and priests keep their hands clean and their souls intact – Gellert was a realist and he knew that achieving the greater good would cost all the blood that could be spent. Even if it was magical blood.

Albus continued to protect the boy as much as he was able, but even he had slipped up by failing to restore the spells silencing Grindelwald; it just made his task all the easier to accomplish. With any luck and some careful persuasion on his part, Newt might be fit for his purposes before the year was up. He wanted to give the boy time to recover of course, didn’t want to break him just yet; let him feel that he was coming to Gellert of his own accord. He wasn’t going to rush this, no, true loyalty required time and patient development. Already, he had acquiesced – however grudgingly – to conversing with Gellert and that was enough for now. But that didn’t mean to say that Gellert wasn’t going to indulge in playing with his pretty little cellmate in the meantime, as long as he mediated the pain and humiliation he inflicted with equal amounts of care. The boy was still useful – very much so, and his friends and family were the perfect method of motivation to convince him that bending to Gellert’s will wasn’t all as bad as he seemed to think it was. He would grow to enjoy it if Gellert had his way, he could learn that Gellert Grindelwald was capable of inflicting just as much pleasure as he could pain. The boy should feel honoured.   

Newt would grow to enjoy being his, with every little favour he asked for. Bending just that little bit more. Favour by favour….one by one…

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Percival passed through the days until Newt’s next letter with an unprecedented amount of tension as he went through his everyday routines. It felt as though his life outside of work had found a new centre – Newt. It was likely the distance that had made him yearn to be with the young magizoologist quite so much, thinking of every touch they had shared thus far and wishing he could go further without fear or risk of hurting Newt; but he knew he couldn’t. The poor bastard had suffered enough without Percival pressing upon him.

He was just used to instant gratification, so it was difficult – usually all he had to do was approach someone, engage in a bit of casual conversation, drop a signature Graves smoulder and the person was practically dropping to their knees in front of him. It was a blessing being handsome, wealthy and powerful in some respects, when it came to quick, meaningless sex that was just to fulfil a purpose. He knew that many considered him to be a cocky, conceited bastard, but Percival had long ago realised that acknowledging the effect he obviously had on people wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Granted, he did dress to impress and took great care in his appearance, but it had honestly started as more of a professional and cultured decision to impress upon those around him of his position. It was difficult to get anywhere in this world if you didn’t use what you had to your advantage. Casual hook ups were easy for someone to Percival even if they never quite filled the hollow part of him that had been so recently noticeable.    

But Newt sparked something different in him that made him want to take his time and make sure that Newt felt as appreciated as he should. Make sure that Newt was happy – not just physically satisfied and that was where the problem lay for Percival. He didn’t want to treat Newt like an easy fuck – he wanted to be with him and be there _for_ him – but he didn’t have anywhere near as much experience with the more… emotional levels of intimacy. He wasn’t a machine by any means; he felt just as much as the next man but years of Auror training and personal control had led him to create a professional, cool demeanour. There were very few who could crack that façade and Newt was most definitely one of them.

Maybe it was why it had been so easy for Grindelwald to impersonate him – because he didn’t build relationships with those around him. He hated to aliken himself to the sadistic psychopath, but he couldn’t deny that they shared a certain… cool demeanour that they maintained to assert dominance. That was why he was trying to be a bit friendlier towards his colleagues lately but all it seemed to do was worry them – someone had even lodged a complaint to Picquery that they thought Percival was losing his touch and needed some time off. He had responded by giving the Auror in question a month of overtime which had seemed to convince them of his continued ability to lead.

It didn’t particularly help that Tina had left several days ago to help her sister prepare for her wedding in England – he knew that neither could really afford to take the time off but had helped as best and subtly he could by increasing Tina’s wage and passing it off as an official matter that came with her promotion. He had actually docked the money came from his own wages to be funnelled off into hers, but he wasn’t ever going to admit that. He had always had a fondness for the Goldstein sisters as they had seemed of a good sort and after all the business with Grindelwald, they had gained another mutual link through Newt. Percival saw no reason why he should live in excessive luxury whilst Tina, Queenie and her fiancé struggled.

He had just received Newt’s last letter mere minutes ago and was using his allotted lunch break to sit back in his winged leather armchair, drink his coffee and peruse the adorably scruffy handwriting on the page before him. His own owl had delivered it and Percival took some fond amusement to notice that the bird had clearly been well cared for on its arrival in England and he was able to sense the warding spells that had been placed upon him to protect him from the weather. It was typical of Newt to put more care into caring for a creature than himself. This letter was longer than the last and seemed to have a rather frantic, distracted edge to it that had been absent before, writing jerkier and several sections obscured by scribbled ink blots.

_Dear Percival_

_I feel privileged that you take enough stock in my opinions on Dumbledore to place your trust in him be association, I believe he’s a good man and I feel quite certain that his precautions have ensured that Grindelwald cannot escape. As for contingency plans, I believe that he may have something planned in Luxemburg that Albus has apparently already sorted out, but I felt that I should tell you of it nonetheless in case it was at all helpful? Also, that a woman named Rosier may have been responsible for one of his latest offences, I hope that might mean more to you than it did me._

_I’m afraid that I act as a bearer of bad news concerning Tina who arrived in London recently – she fell victim to a boobytrapped letter that had been meant for Theseus. I was able to prevent any serious harm from befalling her by neutralising the Vipertooth Venom before it could begin to spread and infect but she was understandably shaken. I urge you to be more careful than usual with receiving any deliveries or just in general as I fear you might also be a target for Grindelwald’s supporters. I know you always exercise sensible caution, but I don’t want you to get hurt because of me again._

_My creatures are continuing to be overly affectionate in wake of my physical…infirmity and as such have been rather helpful in my usual duties but also been scaring more grey hairs onto Theseus’ head in the process. He dyes it you know, thinks I didn’t realise but sharing a house with him has let me into a fair few valuable pieces of blackmail information whenever he gets to be difficult. Luckily, he didn’t end up needing to help with birthing the Mooncalves as Jacob seemed keen to help and they have taken a liking to him, so it went smoother than expected. The young ones are doing fine so far, although one has a crippled leg that may need further watching even if she seems to be keeping up with her siblings – all six of them. I’ve had to expand the enclosures and move them into the space in my house because it was getting a tad crowded in the case._

_The preparations for Jacob and Queenie’s wedding are going as well as can be expected considering everyone is on edge after what happened. Theseus tried to convince them to put off the wedding in case of another attack, but Tina wouldn’t have her sister’s wedding being put off because of her. They made me bestman, but I have the feeling she probably already told you about that because I get the feeling I’m often the last to know of anything nowadays. For instance, concerning my brother’s involvement with Tina – I imagine you figured it out some time before I did and in hindsight, I should’ve figured it out sooner. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it at first, but I’ve decided that I’m just happy that he is managing to get over Leta leaving him so abruptly. She broke off their engagement. I oddly enough didn’t find myself too surprised by her decision even if I resent her for it – I truly wish she hadn’t hurt Theseus so, but she does what she needs to survive and maybe this might be best for her. I intend to visit her soon to see how she’s coping but I don’t really want to mention it to Theseus for obvious reasons._

_There are apparently rumours going around that Credence is actually her long-lost brother – Corvus Lestrange and she isn’t dealing with it well from what I’ve heard, even if the Ministry has decided to not immediately execute him. I haven’t heard much from Tina on how he’s coping but I suppose it must be well otherwise there would likely be news of his escape in the Daily Prophet. They always have had an unfortunate tendency of exaggerating stories, especially when it comes to ‘dangerous’ magical creatures or beings. I’m just glad that they allowed her to be the one to take care of him – he needs a positive female presence after what his adopted mother did to him. It seems odd writing to you of Credence because even though he thought he knew you, that wasn’t actually the case. I’m sorry if this upsets you to hear about but it feels better to talk to someone I trust about such things even if they are thousands of miles away. Everyone else acts like **I’m** a dangerous creature, like I’ll snap at any moment any run or attack them. I know they don’t mean it and they’re probably right to act that way, but it honestly doesn’t help. _

_I must admit that it helped to have Theseus and Albus see what happened for themselves – in a Pensieve - but at the same time it’s made them act more strangely around me. I’ve been having trouble telling what Theseus is thinking half the time and its been driving me mad. Part of me wishes that he never saw any of it, but he deserved to know what Grindelwald did to our father. He killed him. Did it in such a brutal way to convince me of something I daren’t even admit to - even to you._

_I apologise for being such a recurring source of misery for you – I imagine I simply act as a constant reminder of things that you’d much rather forget. I know that you are too good of a man to admit it so I shall spare you the chore of obligatorily refuting my claims and simply thank you for being there for me, even when your work calls for you to be elsewhere. Your presence in the clinic with me in Salzburg helped me more than I can express – it still does, and I don’t know how to thank you enough for it._

_Queenie told me that you’ll be coming the day of the wedding as your duties keep you busy up until then? I hope everything works out okay so that I can see you again. I must admit that this confession may be coming from a lack of sleep and too many pepper-up potions, but I honestly can’t wait to see you again. I’m sorry if that comes off as too forward but I should probably finish here anyway as Queenie is threatening me with having a suit fitted for the wedding. I honestly don’t see what’s wrong with my normal clothes, but she says that they don’t have enough ‘zazz’ although I’m not entirely sure what that means._

_Anyway, I digress, I look forward to seeing you again soon._

_Fond regards, Newt. A.F. Scamander_

Percival found himself charmed by the ridiculously awkward, stumbling and sweet words, even if half were slightly smeared upon the paper. He was surprised to see that Newt had decided to open up – even a little, to him and it gave him hope that this meant Newt was beginning to find enough courage and faith in both himself and Percival. And what he had said concerning missing Percival and being excited to see him again... it sparked hope warm and glowing in his chest and put a fond smile upon his lips.  Of course the news concerning Tina worried him but it came as more of a relief that apparently no permanent harm was done and that he would be able to see her wellbeing for himself soon enough. It was only a matter of a few days now until the wedding.  

Things had been oddly quiet over the last few days since Newt’s last letter and Percival’s Aurors instincts were twitching constantly – warning him that the lack of dissident attacks or incidents was something to be watched. The calm before a storm. If it was truly Grindelwald’s followers who had targeted Theseus and incidentally hurt Tina, then there was a good chance that Newt’s other friends could be in danger as well. He would heed Newt’s warning of course and be more on guard than usual but he took some small solace in the fact that he had not told anyone but Picquery where he was going during his absence. Hopefully that would limit any potential leaks in the system that could lead to trouble and if it didn’t then he could easily trace it back to be a bug or leak in Picquery’s office. Percival did not want it to come to that of course but he could never be too careful. Even the coffee he was currently drinking, that he had made himself had been checked a dozen different ways before he took so much as a sip of it. People called him paranoid, but it was Percival who was still alive at the end of the day – unlike his past three predecessors who had been killed by poison, disgruntled former employees and religious fanatics; in that order.   

Despite the unfortunate news residing in Newt’s letter and the grim concerns that faced the hardened Auror, he couldn’t help but still feel a but uplifted by the affection he sensed in Newt’s words. He certainly wasn’t imagining it and it gave him hope that Newt felt confident enough to voice his emotions even in an apologetic, awkward way. Maybe there was hope for the two of them after all. With that thought in mind, Percival got back to work and eagerly awaited the looming time when he would be able to see Newt again. In the mean time he knew exactly what he would need to find to bring with him for the next time they met.

 **A/N – Good? Bad? Ugly? Gibberish? Too demanding?  You let me know.**      


	10. Chapter 10

**“If only you had known me before the accident, for with that grand collision, came a grave consequence, receptors overloaded; they burst and disconnect, til’ there was little feeling, please work with what is left.**

**...But if you let me be your skyline, I’ll let you be the wave, that reduces me to rubble, but looked safe from far away**

**I don’t know why, I don’t know why I return to the scenes of these crimes…I don’t know why, I don’t know why, I don’t know what I expect to find**

**Where all the news is second-hand, and everything just goes on as planned…So let us not be lonesome, lost in between our needs and wants.” – ‘The Ghosts of Beverly Drive’ – Death Cab for Cutie**

It was all very… pink. Of course, Newt understood that it was _Queenie’s_ wedding decorations so he probably should have expected as much but it still was rather overwhelming. He could have sworn that he could feel the pink glow behind his tired eyes even when he was away from them. The bakery had been turned into a miniature reception-come-chapel for the wedding, rose coloured streamers and conjured sparkling glitter that hung in the air around all the tables, chairs, windows and walls. Not being able to really get married at a church as Jacob may have intended had his new wife-to-be been anything other than a witch, they had decided to have the wedding ceremony at their newly refurbished home.

Queenie’s family only consisting of Tina and one rather batty great-aunt who had refused to attend and Jacob not being able to invite his distant family to watch him marry in a clearly magical setting, it fortunately wasn’t too crowded. Jacob seemed slightly despondent that his departed grandmother couldn’t be there to see the day but took solace in the fact that she probably would’ve liked Queenie anyway. He told Newt as much as they both stood in the back-room, Jacob bouncing excitedly, nervously on the spot in his tailored light blue, double breasted suit and fiddling with the blush pink hyacinth in his buttonhole. He looked so admirably ecstatic that even Newt could find his nervousness melting away a bit – he was happy that with only half an hour left to go before the ceremony that everything seemed to be going according to plan.

Newt tugged awkwardly at the collar of his own suit. Queenie had followed through on her threat and made him a new suit all by herself and forced him to stay still whilst she had measured and fitted the thing. It was of a similar style to Jacob’s – likely following a theme – but instead of being a light blue, it was made of dark blue velvet. He had balked at the choice of material when presented with it and tentatively suggested that he should wear something a bit subtler, but a burst of laughter from Tina and Theseus who had been sitting in the corner of the room at the time, had left him even more confused. Queenie had shushed him and said that whatever the bride said went and not really having a better argument he had relented. Admittedly the suit _was_ probably one of the best things he had ever worn, but he still felt confused as to why Queenie had insisted he wore a suit of flashier material than her own fiancé – he had asked and she had simply told him that she thought Jacob would look handsome no matter what she did with his suit and that Newt was in dire need of fashion advice.

“-do you think, Newt?” Jacob’s voice finally cut through Newt’s nervous musings and he jerked his head up to blink at Jacob. He must’ve drifted off – realising that he hadn’t been listening to a word his friend had said and feeling instantly guilty. He had just been so tired lately; often woke up feeling almost as exhausted than when he fell asleep.

“S-sorry, what?”

“I said, do you think Tina might consider moving over here? I mean, to be with Queenie. I know she’s got her work and all, but you guys have a government over here too right? She could start working in London or sumin’? I know Queenie’ll miss her otherwise.”                  

Newt blinked again, awkwardly adjusting his tie before replying. “I suppose she could if she wanted to but what with her promotion and the problems in America I don’t know if it would be the best idea…”

Jacob’s brow creased slightly but he brightened again almost immediately – the undampable spirit of a man in love. “Yeah I guess, but she’ll be visiting a lot anyways cause of her and Theodore.”

Newt snorted an awkward laugh at Jacob’s continued difficulty with wizarding names – when he had first met Newt’s brother, he had mistakenly called him by the wrong name at least a half dozen times, each attempt more amusing than the last as Theseus had sputtered irritably. “I’m sure that Tina will come to see _Theseus_ enough that Queenie won’t have time to miss her _._ ”

Jacob nodded and beamed before his curiosity clearly got the better of him. “Are you okay with them? I mean, I know you had a thing for her. It’s gotta be rough right?”

Newt ducked his head embarrassedly, flushing slightly pink. “I’m happy for them. They both seem to get along very well, so I don’t see why they shouldn’t be together if they want to be.”

Jacob directed a sceptical look at him. “Sure, sure, but how do _you_ feel bout it?”    

“I honestly don’t mind, Jacob.”

The Muggle perked up slightly at this – if that was even possible – and punched Newt playfully in the shoulder with a knowing smirk. “Got your eye on someone else then, huh?”

Newt flushed darker and his mouth opened and closed once or twice as he thought of a polite way he couldn’t avoid answering _that_ honestly. Good man or not, Newt was aware that Muggles and most definitely Americans usually held rather stringent views on homosexuality. He didn’t really believe that Jacob would condemn him for it, but he didn’t want his friend looking at him any different from how he did now. Newt struggled enough maintaining friendships without bringing up something controversial like this. Asking Jacob to accept magic, creatures and all the madness that came along with it was one thing but asking him to accept something like this was quite another. Best leave it unsaid, especially in the last minutes before his wedding began.   

“Not really, but I think that there are more pressing issues to think about right now than my romantic life. It’s your wedding day after all.” Jacob eyed him suspiciously for a moment before falling for the change of topic and beaming again. _Goodness, it seems like Queenie is rubbing off on him already._

“Yeah, you’re right, everything ready do ya think?” The baker asked, smoothing down his suit jacket and glancing about the room in a cursory, enthusiastic manner.

“I think so. Shouldn’t be long now.” Newt replied, reflexively looking down at his pocket watch. Fifteen more minutes to go. Merlin’s beard, he hoped he didn’t do anything to ruin the proceedings. He had already pictured a hundred ways he could mess up – forgetting his speech, having a panic attack during the ceremony, tripping up and falling on someone at exactly the wrong moment… and that was just some of the things _he_ could do wrong. Not even considering the tense knot that Grindelwald’s threats had placed in his chest recently. Newt forced himself to focus upon breathing and upon his memory of Percival to stop the panic bubbling inside him. Unfortunately, that memory then prompted him to think of the imminent arrival of a certain handsome, intimidating Auror.

Galloping Gargoyles, that just made him nervous all over again! Maybe Percival wouldn’t even turn up; it seemed likely, he was a busy man and America was really a very long way away. Yes, he probably wouldn’t even turn up. No need to worry about the potential pitfalls of interacting with the subject of his affections if he wasn’t even going to make an appearance.

“You ready, Newt?” Jacob asked, tapping his arm and Newt nodded jerkily before paling as he remembered exactly what he had forgotten up until that moment. The rings! Damn it!

“I’m so sorry, I forgot, I left the rings in my shed in the case. It was meant to keep them safe.” He explained in a rush as he dashed across the room to where he had thankfully left his case – not wanting to leave it unattended out of fortunate habit and paranoia. He unlatched it and descended the ladder even as Jacob blanched and began sputtering nervously. “I’ll be right back! I promise!”    

Cursing his own fuzzy, distracted brain and stupidity he hastened over to the shelf where he had left the black velvet box and felt dread as he saw it lying open and empty. “Bloody Nifflers. Should’ve known.” He growled under his breath as he left the shed, jogging as fast as his still stiff body allowed him to, over to the Niffler’s enclosure. Ever since they had babies, the little furry thieves had practically been a menace and he knew that he should’ve known better than to leave anything as important as the wedding rings anywhere near them. It was practically a gift-wrapped temptation for them. He just hoped he could get the rings back before the wedding ceremony began. He just _knew_ he was going to mess up somehow!        

Newt blamed the lack of proper sleep for his inattentiveness and short-sightedness, but it certainly wasn’t the only justification he could think of. Just two days before, he had been told by his publisher at Obscurus books via owl, that his final manuscript had been accepted and that it was already in the process of being published. The odd thing about that had been that Augustus Worme had informed him that he had received the finished copy during the time that Newt had actually been comatose in the clinic in Austria. His suspicions had been confirmed however when he had inspected the forwarded copy of the book that had been sent along with the message. It had included the one thing Newt had failed to gain before his capture had delayed the publishing – a forwarding note from Albus Dumbledore.

The wording of the forward was extremely complimentary to Newt’s thorough research, admirable attitude towards the creatures discussed as well as a suggestion that the book be entered into the textbook pantheon for Hogwarts’ Care of Magical Creatures lessons. Newt had been touched and flattered by Albus’ genuine seeming belief in his book’s ability to educate, entertain and inform the wizarding community on the subject of interacting with the world of magical creatures. The fact that his friend and mentor had taken out the time to send in Newt’s work and make such a glowing recommendation… it made Newt glow with a pride such as had never felt before. Not to mention the note that had been inscribed into the first edition copy – apparently handwritten especially for Newt and passed on by Augustus.  

_To my dear friend Newt,_

_I hope that this one small action on my part in some way contributes to your work gaining the recognition that it most sorely deserves. I sincerely believe that one day every wizarding household will hold a copy of your book and that it will become a staple amongst the magizoologist community._

_You represent the best values of your Hogwarts house – the true worth of often overlooked attributes such as dedication, patience, kindness, tolerance and loyalty. They may be neglected by many, but you have shown me the true worth of such qualities._

_Do not ever cease to believe in your own goodness as I cannot think of another who has done as much good as you have under such grievous circumstance. It takes a special kind of bravery to do what you have done – what are still doing. Do not doubt yourself._

_Fondly yours, Albus. P.W.B Dumbledore_

It went without saying that Newt had placed the inscribed copy in a place of pride in his case, warded from any wandering beasts and tucked safely amongst his most precious items. He glanced briefly at the spine of the book as he passed it on the way to the Nifflers. It still felt wonderfully surreal that he was a published author and that the man he admired more than perhaps anyone, had inscribed such flattering words both into the final editions and into his own personal copy.

He shook the distracting thoughts from his mind lest they lead him astray more than they already had and focussed upon the task at hand. Newt reached the Niffler burrow and wasn’t particularly surprised to see that the creatures had apparently sensed the oncoming raid and burrowed down into their mounds of treasure, blankets and dirt clumps. He raised an eyebrow at the remaining Niffler – the eldest – who looked up at him, clutching a familiar silver pen in his paws before launching himself back into the pile with his family. Newt really wished he had his wand on him in that moment as he wasn’t very good with wandless summoning charms so had to resort to the old-fashioned method and dove into the pile after them.

Newt had had to wear gloves around the Nifflers since the blood-pact had seared all too tempting silver into his skin – unlike the other creatures who shied away from the magic in it, the Nifflers apparently took it as a challenge. There had been several occasions when Newt had been forced to ask Theseus to immobilise the babies as they had attempted to pry the metal from his skin. It had bloody _hurt_ even if he knew it wasn’t their fault and Newt felt the familiar grabby, scratchy little paws digging into his hand as he dug through the pile of treasure and dirt clumps. “Come on! I don’t have time for this!”

The creatures seemed to find his chasing attempts amusing – as if it were all a fun game that prompted them to burrow deeper into the pile and then jump at him from different angles. Newt soon found himself covered in little baby Nifflers that scurried over his head, shoulders, legs and arms, chasing one another and thwarting his awkward attempts to catch the little buggers. “Come on, this is just ridiculous now. Play fair why don’t you! Jeremy, Leela, Milo, Benjamin, Isla stop it!”

The aforementioned creatures completely ignored his scolding cries and continued to scurry about gleefully, upsetting the pile of treasures and rendering Newt’s attempts to order the chaos useless. After several minutes he saw one golden band roll away back towards the shed across the wooden floor and he crawled hurriedly after it, hand outstretched to grab it. Jeremy chose that moment to sink his tiny little claws into the silver on Newt’s index finger, pulling as hard as he could to get at the silver and Newt yelped in pain as fiery shocks shot through the appendage. “Ah! Bugger!”

He watched in horror as the ring rolled towards a gap between the floorboards and managed to disconnect the insistent Niffler from his finger just as the metal teetered on the edge. He feared he would be too late, and he was. Fortunately, the ring flew up into the air and away from the gap, Newt looked up to see a pair of shiny black leather shoes directly in front of him. He pushed his gaze further up across a smartly suited pair of legs, broad chest and finally up to meet a familiar pair of warm, amused brown eyes that made him flush bright red as he realised his current position; on his hands and knees in front of him. _Oh bugger._

Newt scrambled hurriedly to his feet, brushing his knees off as best he could but only succeeding in smearing the dirt more into the material – _why_ did it have to be velvet? _Damn it Queenie._ He flushed brighter pink as Percival Graves handed the ring to him and he gratefully accepted it, tucking it safely back into his pocket. With a single gesture, Percival had summoned the second ring from the pile and Newt quickly reached out to disentangle Leela’s spotted paws from it, carefully putting her back down on the floor and avoiding those _very_ distracting eyes. Weeks of waiting and suddenly Newt couldn’t think of a single proper thing to say to Percival, he fixed his gaze upon the man’s tasteful, expensive-looking suit-jacketed shoulder, but then just found himself distracted by just how broad and strong those shoulders were. Merlin help him.

With another wandless gesture of his hand, Newt found the dirt and rumples on his suit disappearing – clearly, a practised spell and Newt smiled sheepishly, still not daring to look up at the other man until he felt a hand brush his cheek. Newt’s eyes snapped up to meet Percival’s as the older wizard offered him a slight smile, a mere pull of his lips that still managed to scorch Newt in its warmth. A flash of memory flickered behind Newt’s eyes for just a second – Grindelwald’s soft, cold hand performing a similar touch before he pushed it back forcefully. This wasn’t the same. It _wasn’t_. A rough thumb rubbed a spot of dirt from his cheek in a contrastingly soft gesture, Percival’s hand didn’t linger however as the customary solemnity flashed across his face and he withdrew it. Newt tried not to be simultaneously relieved and disappointed by the loss of the contact.

“It’s good to see you again, Newt.” His voice was just as warm as his eyes and Newt found himself shifting awkwardly under the intense gaze, it made that odd flame in his chest flare up and he could feel himself sweating slightly.  

“Um y-yes, you too M-mr Graves.” He mumbled out, feeling ridiculous.

Percival let a bemused chuckle and shook his head. “Really Newt, I would have thought we would be on first name terms by now. Call me Percival. You do in your letters, don’t you?”

“Of course, yes, sorry…Percival.” There was a part of him that felt odd calling him by his first name even if they certainly knew each other well enough to do so; it just reminded him a little too much of how Grindelwald referred to Percival. He pocketed the other ring and offered another sheepish smile that seemed to relieve a little of the tension between them. “Thank you for your help.”

Percival smiled knowingly and gestured around the enclosures, prompting both to make their way back towards the case entrance as he did so. “Queenie asked me to come see if you needed any help and Jacob told me you were down here. I thought that you might appreciate a hand what with you still recovering.”

“Thanks, I should’ve been more careful. My own fault really – can’t trust them around anything shiny after all.” He glanced absently down at his left hand as he spoke, irritated to see lines of blood tracing across the back of his palm from where the Nifflers had tried to remove the silver. It stung something fierce, but he merely tucked the hand behind his back and gestured with the other for Percival to climb the ladder before him.    

Following up after him, Newt tried very deliberately to avoid noticing how the fabric of Percival’s fitted black trousers moved against the muscles of his thighs, shoulders and arse as he climbed the ladder. He really did. But it was difficult. Merlin’s beard, what was it about Percival Graves that made it so difficult to _not_ notice every tiny detail about the man. He had never had such trouble before; why was it such a problem now? 

They both emerged from the case, brushing down their slightly rumpled clothes and Percival nodding politely to Jacob, offering a quiet congratulations before slipping out of the backroom – likely to take his place in the audience. Newt hastily withdrew the rings and held them up to Jacob who looked decidedly relieved and the young magizoologist offered another stream of apologies that were waved away. From the next room, the sound of a wedding march being played upon string instruments issued and both men straightened, moving towards the door.

The stained glass had cast a pleasant rosy, multicoloured hue across the room and everyone in it. The pink sparkles being highlighted all the more by the afternoon sun streaming through onto the polished wood floor and chairs. Everyone was seated already – Theseus, Percival and two middle-aged women and a man Newt didn’t recognise, all organised in an orderly row by the shop’s counter and a tasteful arch of wildflowers floating over by the window, silhouetted by the multi-coloured light in a pretty way. An elderly, grey-faced, bent-backed wizard stood there – obviously the officiant, with a register book in one hand and a binding quill in the other. Any marriage signed in this book would be counted as a Muggle marriage even if it was still magically bound – the laws on such unions were still in a state of flux.     

Newt escorted Jacob up to the window – charmed so that no Muggles couldn’t see through – and then awkwardly moved off to stand by the door, waiting for when his part would come in. He was sweating a bit by this point, feeling as many gazes on him as were on Jacob. Fortunately, Tina and Queenie chose that moment to enter and all attention was then fixed upon the bride. She certainly looked very pretty – blonde curls bouncing with each exited little step and a lacy, floral-patterned pink dress on, carrying a bouquet of white roses and pink hyacinths. Both she and Jacob looked absolutely thrilled – as if they were floating on air and Newt couldn’t help but smile too, even with all the trouble going on as of late it was nice to see his friends so happy.    

The ceremony itself went off without a hitch **(pun intended)** and Newt managed to hand over the rings and repeat his legal witness statement without dropping them or doing anything equally as embarrassing. As focussed on the newlyweds as everyone in the room – including himself – were, Newt could have sworn that he could feel a familiar, smouldering gaze fixed on him which caused him to flare slightly pink throughout the whole duration. He doubted anyone would notice though what with all the pink around them. 

Once the vows were said and the marriage book signed by both, they kissed and everyone in the room began to applaud as the floating stringed instruments in the corner began to play a cheerful, triumphant sounding melody. There was a whoop from Jacob as Tina caught the bouquet after it was thrown carelessly over Queenie’s shoulder as she embraced her new husband. Newt pretended not to notice the wink that Theseus and Tina exchanged; not necessarily being bothered by the implications but not feeling the need to draw attention to it either.

He lingered in his spot by the door as everyone else went over to congratulate the happy couple, the crowd making him feel uncomfortable. The two middle-aged witches and the man were apparently the only friends of Queenie’s that could find the time and inclination to attend her wedding overseas to a Muggle. Newt overheard the names Linda and Valena squealed as Queenie embraced them both and then being hugged by the man who he thought was called Reginald. Newt felt decidedly awkward watching even Theseus seeming to find some common ground with Jacob as he brought up the subject of military service. The group of women stayed by the window whilst Theseus and Jacob and the one called Reginald cleared off to one side to sample the drinks set out on the table in the corner. Newt found himself looking around hopefully for the only person left unaccounted for and felt a bit dejected as he saw Percival going over to join the other three other men, speaking in a low voice.

Newt absently looked down at his left hand and realised that the scratches on his fingers were still bleeding, not much mind you, but enough so that his hand was tinged red around the lines of silver. He muttered a quiet curse and headed off towards the back room where his case still sat, he had everything he needed to patch up the wound and it didn’t seem that anyone would miss him up here, so he descended back into his case.

He was mildly annoyed to find the Nifflers skittering about the floor of the shed – clearly trying to search back the retrieved rings and he spent several minutes collecting each and pocketing them. The young magizoologist returned them to their enclosure, making sure to replace the wards on it before heading back over to the shed. It felt more natural to be down here whilst others were being sociable, he wasn’t ever one to enjoy being around groups of people even if they were made up of people he liked. His nervous, awkward disposition had certainly not been improved by recent events and the laughter, bright colours and people had reminded him jarringly of the circus rally in Paris. He knew it wasn’t the same situation – not even close really, but the tension in his chest still rose again and his tired eyes itched as he numbly searched the shelves for the salve he was looking for.

He cursed again as a bottle dropped from the shelf where he had knocked it with a clumsy elbow, luckily it wasn’t anything too rare or harmful, but it was still unbelievably irritating to think that he couldn’t simply charm it repaired as he usually would have. He really did need to get his wand replaced, a trip to Gervaise Olivander’s shop was much needed. Though to look slightly on the bright side, his lack of a wand had given him the opportunity to practice his wandless magic skills; something he felt an ever-increasing need to do. Newt waved his hand at the scattered shards and they sluggishly moved into a pile upon the floorboards, granted it wasn’t as helpful as he had hoped but it was at least something. He collected the pieces, moving to put them on a nearby table but nearly dropping them in shock when they reformed in his hand to their original shape. He glanced behind him to see that Percival had silently descended the ladder and was regarding him with an odd look on his face.

“Oh, um thanks.” He mumbled, placing the repaired bottle on the table and awkwardly pulling at his tie and collar as it suddenly felt too tight, not in the way it had before when he had been hallucinating, but more in a way that reminded him unhelpfully of how fitting his current clothes were. Percival offered him a brief smile, sidling forward to stand by the table, but far enough away that Newt did not feel overwhelmed, he felt a familiar, fond relief at the careful concern.

“You’re awfully quiet on your feet.” Newt found himself blurting and Percival chuckled slightly.

“Sorry if I startled you. Perk of the job – you learn quite quickly that announcing your presence brazenly is rarely a good idea.” 

“You have a point. I suppose I’m more used to being straightforward with a lot of creatures. Sneaking up on a skittish beast isn’t wise.”  

“I don’t doubt that.” Percival’s offhand reply somehow left Newt unsure whether he was referring to creatures as he had been, or if he was talking about Newt himself. He found himself pulling at his collar again and winced when Percival’s eyes caught the blood still staining his scarred hand. Unlike Grindelwald’s eyes, however, there was no fascination, satisfaction or malice there – just concern as he stepped forward, taking Newt’s wrist gently, loosely in his hand and frowning down at the wound.

“What happened here?” His voice was quiet, and Newt was feeling painfully aware of how close he was standing, he was sweating again. Even though the young magizoologist had a height advantage of him he was still aware of how much stronger Percival was than him – magically, physically and mentally too. He tried not to think of Percival as a threat – he wasn’t one, not to him – it was just some stupid, lingering paranoia from the tricks Grindelwald had forced upon him and he was determined _not_ to let such techniques work. He _knew_ that the dark wizard was locked up in Nurmengard, saw it every night and the concerned man in front of him was just that; a concerned friend.

He swallowed and when he spoke his voice sounded much steadier than he felt. “It was my fault for forgetting my gloves around the Nifflers. They’re only babies and they couldn’t help it. It’s in their nature after all.”           

Percival nodded and passed his free hand over the top of Newt’s own, clearing away the blood and soothing the irritated skin a bit, there was a flurry of light silver sparks but the younger man smiled gratefully at him through his fringe. “Thanks.”

Percival gently released his hand and Newt found it a bit easier to breathe as he stepped back, releasing a seemingly measured breath through his lips. The Auror looked about the shed briefly before fixing his gaze back upon Newt. “Mind giving me a tour?”

Newt nodded eagerly and left the shed with a slight spring in his step, Percival followed unhurriedly behind him, taking clear care to assess every aspect of the enclosures, climates and creatures as Newt led him around. The young magizoologist found himself relaxing as he introduced Percival to his friends, feeling more in his element speaking about such familiar things to someone he cared about. He was pleased to see that Percival seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say, his brown eyes alight with fascination as he watched Newt handling the creatures and explaining a bit about each.

He smiled and nodded in all the right places that assured Newt he wasn’t just humouring him, and it set that warm feeling smouldering in him all the brighter. Percival’s accented voice was rich, smooth and deep, rolling over Newt as they spoke; such a wonderful thing to hear that Newt finds himself relaxing further as they move around the enclosures, his own voice gained confidence. The Auror asked perceptive questions that surprised Newt but that he answered enthusiastically, finding that it was nice to have someone who knew the potential dangers of many of the creatures from his own experiences but was still willing to listen to Newt’s more insightful take on them. Didn’t just condemn them on appearance or reputation as most would.

As they walked past Frank’s sadly empty habitat and towards the back of his case, Newt finally ventured his inner thoughts, voice hesitant but still curious, playful even. “I wouldn’t have expected the Director of MACUSA’s Security to be so open to what I’ve been doing here.”

Percival chuckled “You mean the distinct lack of permits or adherence of _any_ magical laws concerning magical creatures?”

Newt shifted a bit nervously but released a chuckle of his own. “To be fair, I do have _some_ permits.”

Percival raised a sculpted brow at him, his dark hair and eyes glinting slightly in the perpetually moonlight area nearby, highlighting his sharp features flatteringly with a cool blue glow that complemented his pale complexion. “Newt, if I was going to arrest you don’t you think I would have done it by now? Besides, I’m not exactly in my jurisdiction here anyway.”    

“I suppose you have a point.” Newt ducked his head before brightening and turning his attention to the artificial jungle around them, blue eyes searching for the tell-tale gleam of air that would tell him Dougal was nearby. He tried not to think of the time when someone who most certainly _looked_ like Percival had arrested him; it wasn’t relevant.  

Newt stepped lithely upon onto a nearby vine-covered rock, reaching up into the nearest tree and holding out a hand to the slight shimmer as the Demiguise flickered into visibility. He once again cursed his lack of a wand as another unpredictable bout of jungle rain began to fall, spraying his impractical attire and plastering his hair to his face. He disregarded it though as he saw the fond look on Percival’s face when he saw Dougal climb forward to crouch upon Newt’s shoulders, wrapping his long, downy fingers through Newt’s coppery hair. He grinned at the elder wizard, gesturing for him to hop up onto the rock beside him, offering him a hand to help him up which Percival took in a strong, careful grip. When they stood on the rock together, Percival conjured an invisible umbrella from the tip of his wand and smiled warmly at both Newt and the Demiguise, reaching forward to hold a hand out to Dougal in an uncertain greeting.

Apparently, Dougal was feeling sociable and oddly trusting as he took one paw out of Newt’s hair and patted softly at Percival’s proffered hand, tilting his head to the side and regarding him with large, round amber eyes. “He likes you, it’s quite rare for Demiguise to approach anyone. Even with their ability for precognition, they are usually quite timid. Don’t like to get involved with humans and usually stick to protecting themselves and other creatures by staying away.”

Percival regarded the Demiguise with bemusement, a slightly grim smile twitching his lips. “I must’ve done something right then; he did save my life after all.”

“I did ask him about that, but he just said he knew I needed help.” Newt murmured, eying Dougal quizzically but keeping the other eye on Percival’s reaction – he raised an eyebrow, a slight frown creasing his expression.

“You can understand him?”

“Yes, well, sort of, Demiguise aren’t usually very vocal - even to each other, so their language can be a bit difficult to understand sometimes. I think he understands bits of English, but it’s honestly hard to tell sometimes.”

“I didn’t believe there was a creature alive you would have trouble understanding.”

“Well, he understands enough to know what I meant when I told him you promised cabbages.” Newt laughed out and Percival joined him a moment later, nodding absently. Newt felt Dougal clamber off him at the movement and back up into his tree, vanishing from sight.

The young magizoologist hopped off the rock and led the way back towards the shed, he got the feeling that they had already probably been gone too long to be polite. He had just been having such a good time showing Percival all the things he had spent months telling him of through their letters. Being around his creatures in a familiar, safe environment with Percival was much easier – it helped to put him in a context that Newt couldn’t imagine Grindelwald being in. It was silly, he knew because Grindelwald had been inside his case when he was still impersonating Graves, but somewhere as precious and safe as this still obliterated any worries he could have about such a thought.

This was Percival; not Grindelwald and Newt wasn’t going to let the dark wizard taint his memory or future experiences of two things so important to him. He was determined of that much. It helped that Newt hadn’t been bothered too much by Grindelwald lately as the wizard had only attempted to speak to him once or twice in the time since Newt had told him he didn’t believe he deserved to die. He wasn’t sure of the significance of it, but he wasn’t going to look a gift-horse in the mouth by questioning it and restarting an unwanted dialogue with Grindelwald.

As Newt reached forward to the ladder leading out of the shed back up to the world of inescapable pink sparkles and loud laughter, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and he turned to find Percival standing much closer to him than he had before realised. The American wizard’s eyes were fixed upon Newt’s own and he felt heat rise in his cheeks at the lack of space between them as well as the smouldering warmth he saw in Percival’s eyes. It was scary how little the man could do to him with just a look and a simple hand on his shoulder, but Newt felt as if his whole body was tingling in dizzying spirals off from the point of contact, the spark in his chest burning brighter in a way that was both alarming and enjoyable.        

“How are you doing, Newt? I mean really.” His voice was as soft, low and careful as it was when they were back in the hospital but now it was layered with something else lying just beneath the surface. Newt released a breath and for once in his life found that making eye contact wasn’t quite as difficult as it usually was – he wasn’t forcing himself to do so or doing it because of shock, but because he found it so easy to get lost in those smouldering mahogany depths.

Words seemed increasingly difficult though, as he rushed to reply as honestly as he could. “I- I don’t r-really know… it’s getting b-better…I think… but… I still s-struggle with the… well, memories.”

Percival nodded, face sombre but eyes still burning and drawing Newt further in, but thankfully not in a way that reminded him of the false version of him – it wasn’t hypnotic, just… captivating. He was _very_ aware that Percival’s fingers were lightly brushing the back of his neck, the experienced fingertips causing tingles to travel from the exposed skin all the way down his spine. Newt shivered but not in discomfort, he licked his dry-feeling lips and found his eyes inexplicably drawn down to Percival’s as he mirrored the motion at almost the same moment.         

Standing this close to the other man, he could smell Percival’s scent enveloping him; he smelled nice, crisp and clean with a subtle hint of cologne that overrode the usual smells that permeated the inside of his case. He focused on that smell as it reminded him of who he is with, the fresh, slightly piney, citrusy scent that was nothing like anything he has smelt on another person before – it was comforting and intoxicating in equal amounts.

Percival seemed very distracted by Newt’s lips as his eyes are fixed upon them, making Newt feel very self-conscious all of a sudden. What should he do in this situation? Did he have something on his face that had Percival so distracted or could it be what he hoped it was? Newt could feel the wooden rungs of the ladder pressing into his back as he took a step backwards, not trying to move away from the intimacy, but feeling the sudden need to breathe air that wasn’t heady with the smell of Percival. He blinked furiously, why was the shed suddenly so warm? Had it always been like this or had his weather charms begun to play up again? It had happened before.

“Newt, are you alright?” Percival is looking at him with concern, that unidentifiable look still present but dampened slightly by worry and a touch of guilt.

“Y-yes. Fine.” He stuttered, numbly moving to unbutton his too-warm jacket, pulling it off and tossing it onto the nearby table, he stood there in his matching blue brocade waistcoat and trousers, eyes fixing themselves back onto Percival’s shoulder. He let out a nervous chuckle. “It’s awfully hot in here, isn’t it?”

Percival looked halfway between amused and concerned as he replied in an offhandedly honest voice. “Not especially. I-… I apologise if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

Newt shook his head quickly, cursing himself for making Percival think he’d upset him – the truth was far from it, but Newt could still feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he didn’t want to risk overwhelming himself by ignoring it. He hadn’t experienced such a strong rush of sensations before and he wasn’t entirely sure if they stemmed from excitement or some residual, instinctive fear. It was all very hard to distinguish. “No, you didn’t- you’re not. I d-don't mind… really.”

“If I ever do anything you don’t feel completely happy with please just tell me, Newt.” Percival’s tone was low and sincere, mahogany eyes seeking out Newt’s own beseechingly, he met them willingly. “I find myself unsure around you. I’ve grown to enjoy your company very much and I don’t know how to show you that without risking upsetting the balance of our relationship. I hope that you think of me as someone you can trust.”

Newt swallowed thickly and chose his words carefully, hesitantly as he replied. “I enjoy spending time with you too, Percival. I trust you – I really d-do… it’s just that I find being around you rather difficult. I’m worried I’ll do something stupid or that if I make one wrong move it’ll all come crashing down on me… and I don’t want to drag you down with me”   

“Newt… I don’t want to rush you, I promised myself I wouldn’t, but you just have such an effect on-… you make it difficult to know what to do. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

“It’s o-okay, I… I trust you, Percival.” The words surprised both in their veracity. Newt didn’t realise how true the statement was until now; he may hold lingering tendrils of fear concerning any physical contact with… well anyone, but this version of Percival was so perfectly, amazingly different to Grindelwald’s façade that he found himself able to relax into being so close. He was still scared of course – bloody terrified that he would do something wrong – but the look in those mahogany eyes had him convinced that even if he made a mistake it wouldn’t matter too much.         

Newt looked up into Percival’s smouldering eyes and they were fixed solely upon him. Mouth suddenly dry, Newt licked his lips again, he lifted a trembling hand to Percival’s face – the right one just in case he was rebuffed, in case he was wrong – and set his palm on his lightly stubbled cheek. Dizzily, anxiously, not quite daring himself to do so, he moved his thumb across the sharp edge of Percival’s jawline in a soft caress. He felt his skin shift slightly under his hand as Percival swallowed, clenching his jaw in what seemed to be an attempt at ordering himself.

Their chests were touching at this point, the younger’s back still pressed against the ladder and Newt could feel his heartbeat hammering hard and loud in his own torso - wondered if Percival could feel it too. Merlin’s beard, what was he doing? He was probably just making the other man uncomfortable. He was pushing himself too far. He should stop.

But he really didn’t want to.

Newt leant forward, putting one hand around the Auror’s shoulder and lips hovering inches from Percival’s as he dipped his head to drift close in front of the other man, their breath mingling in the air in an intoxicating heat. Percival’s shoulders were tense under his tailored suit jacket, the emblazoned red thread along the collar seeming to strain very slightly under the pressure of the Auror’s exhaled, shaky sounding breath into the minuscule space between them. “Mercy Lewis, give me strength...”

Newt jerked back slightly, going to move his caressing hand away but feeling surprised as Percival gripped the hand to keep it there. Did that mean that Percival wanted him to continue? Did he want Newt to kiss him? The older man’s eyes were still burning him, and Newt suddenly found breathing to be much more of a struggle than it had been before. The feel of the rungs pressing into his back suddenly felt much more familiar – more like the feel of a metal bedrail and Newt cringed inwardly as the warm feeling in his chest was overcome by the familiar fear. He didn’t have any idea what he was really doing here. Percival didn’t deserve to be placed in an awkward position by Newt’s insecurities – both his lack of experience and from the horrible kind of experience that _had_ been forced upon him. He knew he was panicking but couldn’t seem to get his breathing back under control even when he tried to focus upon Percival’s intense gaze. It wasn’t working.

Newt gasped and twisted out of the grip, away from the ladder and from Percival, breath hitching and head spinning. This wasn’t fair. Why was he allowing Grindelwald to take this from him too? He didn’t want to move away from Percival, but it had been too much, even that small contact had made him panic and not just in the obvious way. Grindelwald’s deplorable actions whilst using Percival’s face weren’t the only thing worrying him. He had never initiated anything romantic before. Sure, he had been kissed by Leta once in their fourth year and by a female Veela that he had met on his travels in Bulgaria who had been grateful to him for chasing away poachers attempting to scalp her. But an experienced lover that most certainly _did not_ make him. He had never even really considered his attraction to men before recently and realised that he had little idea of how to approach it. He didn’t want to disappoint Percival.  

He could hear Grindelwald’s mocking, painfully insightful words ringing in his head as he leant heavily upon the table, breathing hard and before he knew it, he was back in Nurmengard. Not the cell he returned to in his sleep but the horribly familiar room where he had been held before. _"I guessed that you were fonder of our precious little Percy than you were letting on, but it’s not just that is it, mein haustier?" Grindelwald moved Percival's brown eyes up to pierce like fiery daggers into Newt. His lips were smeared with traces of Newt's blood which he licked with apparent relish before continuing. "You don't just have a little shameful crush on the American Director of security, do you?” …_ Newt was sweating, hyperventilating and white knuckles clutching harshly on the table’s edge. His ears were deaf to the panicked calls of his name and the desperate words rolling off his own tongue. His body was numb to the hands on his shoulders. All he could register was the feel of cold metal pressing into his back and wrists. Seeing those bloody lips and fiery, sharp eyes piercing him, raking over his exposed skin… _"You wanted him even when it wasn't really him. You liked it when you were in that interrogation room with what you thought was a dominating, powerful, handsome Auror. You enjoyed the attention didn't you, Newt? The vulnerability? I can give you that"_ …He began to feel the choking hand cutting off his airway as he collapsed against the table, shuddering… “ _You buried those feelings as deep as you could but seeing attractive men in dominating roles gave you the contradictory freedom to be submissive – revelling in the fantasies of letting someone else take complete control of you, to alleviate the shame you feel by pretending that you had no choice in it."_      

Newt yelped loudly in shock and slight pain as he felt a sharp beak sink into his ankle, he was jerked back violently into the present reality and looked down confusedly to see one of the Occamy wrapped around his leg. He heard a similar cry come from behind him and turned sharply to see Percival also facing down the beak of an Occamy but directly in his face, three of the creatures wrapping themselves around his shoulders, neck and arms, expanding as they did so. Panicking, Newt leapt over to assist him, holding out placating hands to the younglings, and coaxing them to slowly unravel themselves from the startled Auror. “It’s alright. I’m alright, he’s a friend. It’s okay, mums here.” The serpentine creatures seemed hesitant to release the perceived threat at first but when Newt put his hand more insistently towards them, they relented and slithered to wrap around his outstretched arm instead.         

Newt, though still feeling shaky, dizzy and sweaty coaxed the Occamy around his leg up to join her siblings on his arm, making his way unsteadily to set them back down in their nest mere feet away. He avoided looking back at Percival; shame, guilt and humiliation twisting like the Occamy themselves in his gut until he heard Percival’s breathless, uncharacteristically overwhelmed sounding voice. “Newt… what in the name of sanity just happened?”

Contritely he forced his gaze up to focus somewhere upon Percival’s unhelpfully still attractive cheek; feeling the need to offer him an honest explanation. “I’m so sorry about that, baby Occamy are fiercely protective and have a tendency to attack any perceived threat to their family, even though I know you’re not-… they probably thought you were-…sorry.”  

“That wasn’t really what I meant, Newt.” His voice was patient but clearly alarmed.

Newt swallowed, shifting on the spot and eying the cuts peppering Percival’s neck, face and hands from the Occamy’s sharp beaks. He stepped forward, reaching up to retrieve a salve from the shelf by Percival’s head and moving his spare hand forward to begin applying it to the small, but no doubt stinging marks. “Shouldn’t be too bad, Occamy aren’t venomous but their nip might really sting for a-”

He was cut off as Percival gently gripped his wrist, calmly moving it away from his neck and fixing him with a steady, challenging stare. “Newt, you had a hallucination – a memory - didn’t you.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, but Newt nodded anyway, shame colouring his cheeks and keeping his eyes down. “You-…Newt, you were saying my name. You… you were begging me to stop. Why-?” Percival’s voice sounded so broken and hurt that Newt forced himself to meet those brown eyes – they looked so unusually unsure. The shame doubled and he pressed a shaking hand to his forehead as if he could hold in the memories with the simple act alone. He didn’t want to tell Percival about this. Never did. But he deserved to know that Newt’s reaction hadn’t been from anything he had done – that it wasn’t his fault.

He took a deep, shuddering breath and spoke as quietly as he could whilst still being audible to the man next to him. “Grindelwald, h-he… he tried to… use the f-faces of… people I cared about to… t-to…to… uh...to h-hurt me. I t-think he was trying to make me… lose my grip on r-reality. I don’t k-know... Make me go mad…. I don’t know r-really.” His eyes felt impossibly dry as he kept them wide open to prevent the pressure building behind them from spilling, staring at Percival’s shoulder, focussing on the red threading on the dark material. It was easier to say if he wasn’t looking into Percival’s eyes. Didn’t – _couldn’t_ – put those eyes together with the words without submerging himself back into _that place_. _You can do this, Newt. You need to tell someone._

“I don’t m-mean to do it… but every t-time… _every time_ something gets too near to what he _said_ , what he _did…_ it- I-…I go back t-there and I’m sorry if I w-worried you… I’m t-trying to control it-”

He cut himself off with a dry, cracked sob, feeling insurmountably weak at not even being able to explain this to someone who deserved so much better Why would Percival _ever_ care enough about someone as broken as him to try to pick up the pieces? He’d ruined everything by not even being able to handle being near someone he cared about very much – probably made Percival rethink whatever had made him ever want to try in the first place. He was surprised when he felt a gentle hand brush the edge of his cheek, a featherlight touch from contrastingly large, capable hands and it coaxed his blue eyes to meet Percival’s again. There was no hatred there still, no annoyance, no impatience or disappointment and thankfully no pity. Just a quiet, patient kind of righteous fury, laced heavily with concern.  

“You don’t need to apologise for what that _sick bastard_ did or for being affected by it. You’re doing so well, Newt. _So well_. I’ve told you before that you needn’t ever feel weak or guilty for needing help or comfort or time. I’m sorry that I pushed you too far, I just… thought that you were alright with it so decided to risk making my affections known. I acted too soon, and I just want you to know that I’m willing to wait as long as you need me to or if that’s not what you want that’s okay too. I promised both myself and your brother that I wouldn’t push you and I don’t intend to break that promise despite how much I may want to. You’re worth waiting for Newt, you’re special – one of a kind.”    

Newt couldn’t quite believe his burning ears but felt the tension in body melt away with each wonderful word that was spoken in Percival’s warm, genuine voice. It felt as though the aches in his bones, chest and muscles were being slowly but surely consumed by an indescribable melted-honey warmth that eased his pain with each molasses-slow movement. _What in Merlin’s name did you ever do to deserve this kind of incredible affection from a human_? Newt had no answer to the voice’s incredulous question, but he offered Percival a smile that only seemed to touch the very surface of the immense gratitude and affection he felt for him in that moment.

It seemed to convey his meaning though as Percival returned with his own fond, heart-smouldering smile before motioning towards the exit to the case and reminded Newt that they should probably get back to the wedding before Theseus came hunting for them in a righteous elder-brotherly rage. The comment worked well at further breaking apart the tension between them and the anxiety in Newt’s chest, leaving him feeling oddly, _wonderfully_ light.

After leaving the case, they both stood in the still empty backroom, hearing stringed instruments playing a wandering, pleasant melody from the next room and smatterings of laughter. They took a few minutes smoothing down their clothing and Percival running an unneeded hand through his already perfectly styled hair. Newt found himself repressing a chuckle at the other wizard’s preening habits as he adjusted every item of clothing and hair on his head, waving a hand over his neck, jaw and hands to remove the tiny marks upon them. Newt tugged half-heartedly on his tie to get it back into place, realising belatedly he had left his suit jacket on the table in the case but not really minding as the melted-honey feeling was still suffusing his skin and insides; keeping him feeling warm and slightly tingly. It was nice. More than nice.          

Percival’s voice cut through the verbal silence awkwardly and Newt turned back to face him. “So… uh Newt, if I was one of the people you cared about can I ask… who were the others?”

Newt flushed brightly; more embarrassed than redolent as he witnessed the slightly teasing though genuinely curious tone of Percival’s voice. He got the feeling that the older wizard was asking both to cut through the tension but also because of lingering doubt about something. “Um, it was Professor Dumbledore, uh I mean Albus.”

Percival’s eyebrow crooked slightly upwards quizzically and his eyes seemed caught between amusement and something else that Newt couldn’t quite identify. “Did you and he ever…?”

Newt flushed even brighter at the insinuation. Jumping gargoyles! Did everyone assume the same thing about him and his mentor? Did it really come off as that sort of relationship? Though he supposed that what with the presence of the bond between them, the trust they placed in one another and the fondness, it wasn’t too far of a leap to make. Especially if you factored in Albus’… um, infamous past with Gellert. He was therefore quick to reassure Percival, still beet-red in the cheeks and neck. “No! Definitely not! I mean, he was my teacher and he is a close friend but… no, never.”

Percival chuckled low in his throat at Newt’s nervousness and placed a placating hand on his shoulder. “Newt, calm down I was just curious to know how many dashing, well-renowned wizards I might be fighting off to win your heart.” The wink he sent Newt melted the Magizoologist’s spine like butter and he ran an awkward hand through his messy curls, ducking his head embarrassedly.                

“None, I would imagine.” He admitted, looking at Percival through his lashes. “I haven’t exactly um really uh… acted upon my interests before… with men… or at all, if I’m honest.”

Percival looked practically scandalized at the idea and Newt felt embarrassment at his inexperience divert his gaze downwards until he caught sight of the amusement twinkling in the American’s mahogany eyes. “Well I’ll be sure to change that later if I have any say in it, but for now, I believe I owe you a dance, Mr Scamander.”    

He held out a hand in invitation and Newt blanched slightly, looking from the hand to Percival’s face and back as if it might bite him. “I don’t really dance, Mr Graves.”

Percival chuckled again and fixed Newt with a knowing gaze. “No better time to learn than the present.”

The young magizoologist hesitated for few more moments before placing his left hand in the Auror’s right, the older man bringing it up briefly to his mouth to place a kiss on his scarred knuckles. Newt flushed again, letting Percival lead him gently from the back room and into the main area of the bakery. Thankfully the open space was already filled with several couples dancing about to the music. Jacob and Queenie, of course, Theseus with Tina, one of the middle-aged witches dancing with the Reginald in a dramatic circle and the other – Linda? – swaying alone in the corner, eyes closed and twirling slowly on the spot. It all made for a lovely and rather odd scene but one that helped Newt to feel less awkward about having just emerged from the back-room hand in hand with the American Director of Magical security.

He was sure he felt a few questioning gazes fixed upon them but Percival’s warm, sure grip on his hand helped to beat down the bright pink flush in his cheeks as the Auror swung him out elegantly into an open space near the back wall of the shop. The rainbow light from the stained glass cast everything in a hue of bloody red, ruddy orange, mystical blue and sunshine yellow glow, the pink glitter still hanging in the air adding spectacularly to the overwhelmingly colourful effect. Percival’s hand plucked his up to be held aloft beside them and the other guided Newt’s other hand to rest on his sturdy hip. Newt relaxed more, allowing himself the pleasure of settling closer into the broad, solid chest, letting Percival lead him in surprisingly elegant patterns across the room at a leisurely pace.

He lost time, humming slightly along with the wandering melodies until he felt Percival breath out a quiet laugh against his cheek. “I may be wrong, but I believe your brother may not appreciate my dancing with you.” Newt turned them slightly so that he could look over Percival’s shoulder as subtly as he could and winced at the utterly black look on Theseus’ face, promptly turning them back away again.       

“If I know Theseus, that look tells me he’s going to kill me, then you, then me again.”

Percival chuckled heartily again, pulling Newt slightly tighter to him, almost as if in defiance. “I think killing is a little strong, maiming perhaps?”

“He does have a professional reputation to uphold I suppose. Murdering an international colleague and his own brother on the same day likely wouldn’t go down well, even over here.” Percival mused, placing his lips lightly against Newt’s shoulder and the younger man huffed out a laugh.

“We’ll just have to see I suppose, won’t we?”


	11. Chapter 11

**“So cold I know you can’t believe it, sometimes you gotta face the feelin’ when you don’t care if you get up again, there’s a thousand things I will not understand. How you're dealin’ with the hell I put you through, if I had my way I would be right there next to you.**

**Certain things in life you cannot change. Certain things. I hope you know I care.**

**I’ve been alone too many nights…A little patience would’ve helped me then, locked like a brake has been the common standard. All the angels above the earth I beg set this message right into her head, certain things in life I cannot take, when I’m away**

**I hope you know I care.” – ‘Yamaha’ – Delta Spirit**

The rest of the evening went by in a blur of dancing, awkward conversations, laughter and a palpable tension that left even someone as practiced as Percival on edge. The hours he had spent in London so far had been some of the best he could remember, though they spotted with those unbearable moments of Newt’s… low spots but since he had told Percival of what had been disturbing him the Auror had felt as though a weight had lifted from his mind. Of course, a new, much more difficult to handle weight had settled upon his heart – at the thought of what Grindelwald had done to Newt, what he had tried to do wearing Percival’s _own damn_ _face_. Was it not enough that he had paraded around for months taking over Percival’s life as he was stuck, helpless, tortured and alone in some dark hellhole without then inflicting such a cruel, manipulative strain upon Newt? The thought of the marks he had witnessed in the hospital being inflicted by someone wearing his form as an added cruelty had affected Percival more than he cared to let on.   

He had been worried that Newt’s adverse reactions to him had been because he might not have wanted Percival’s advances or that it was a more general lingering anxiety. Though he had gradually made the link that it was only him who seemed to provoke such strong responses he had still thought that it was because of what Grindelwald had done wearing his face in New York – not something so recent and specific… so heinous.

He was unbelievably proud and grateful to the young magizoologist for trying – being willing to get past what the sick bastard had done, that he was _willing_ to work past his fear because he believed in Percival. Because he cared for him. Newt was so astoundingly capable of pushing against what was clearly threatening to crush him, letting Percival near him, letting him touch him even when the Auror could feel the initial tension at each contact. He was relieved every single time when the tension melted away and he relaxed into the touch of Percival’s hands – on his shoulders, arms, hands, his cheeks. When they danced, he was pleased with the way Newt relaxed into him slightly, chests pressed together just like he had imagined, though surprisingly enough, the Brit wasn’t as bad of a dancer as he had suspected. He wasn’t graceful exactly, but there was a bit of experience in the careful placement of his feet and it amused Percival slightly to think that it may have come from his years of treading careful steps around skittish beasts.    

The American Auror had had to restrain himself from going any further however, both out of respect for Newt’s boundaries and current state of mind but also of the basic stipulations of propriety. He was careful to not smother Newt as the after-wedding celebrations continued into the night, he let the younger man have time to himself as well as encouraging him to interact with his friends and even the unfamiliar guests. He didn’t want to give the impression to either Newt or anyone else that he wanted to cut Newt off from others – far from it – he wanted to make sure that Newt felt comfortable and despite his nervousness he seemed to be enjoying himself. Queenie had recently started up a few drinking games at the conjured trestle table that she had mischievously insisted that everyone join in upon.

There was a light, relaxed enough feeling in the air of the party that prompted everyone apart from a mildly tipsy looking Theseus to join. Percival had certainly not missed all the black looks the elder had been sending his way for the entirety of the occasion but Tina’s presence at his side had seemed to be restraining the man from acting upon his clear frustration. Whilst he appreciated that it was Tina’s business whom she decided to date he did feel a bit surprised at the usually meek woman’s actions around Theseus. She seemed to be bolder – more like she was whenever she had justice or a goal in mind, the resilient force that would keep working until she had achieved her aims. He just hoped she realised what she was getting into his Theseus’ clearly short temper, overprotective nature and ego.          

He stood leant against the window seat behind Tina’s chair, arms crossed and at that moment, amusedly regarding the proceedings, though with clear tension still present in the set of his jaw whenever he glanced towards where Newt sat with Percival. The Goldstein sisters were both rather drunk by this point and were giggling at practically everything said, sat beside one another with Jacob on Queenie’s left-hand side. The three others who Percival had learned over the course of evening were fellow MACUSA employees in the wand permit department, who now that he came to think of it, he had seen around the Woolworth building before. He had been careful to subtly question Theseus, Queenie and Tina on them, his Aurors hackles having been further prickled by the unfamiliar faces. As it turned out, Theseus had done the same and both men concluded that they didn’t seem to be any threat other than the one called Valena knocking over a chair or two in her tipsy state.  

Newt sat on Percival’s left, chair pushed close into the table and the young magizoologist leaning forward on the table-top whilst tracing the grains in the wood with an absent finger. The American found his gaze repeatedly drawn back to the finger as it was one of those that was lined with silver, but Newt’s usual self-consciousness about the scars apparently dissolved with the addition of several goblets of Nettle wine. He seemed to have relaxed with the drink colouring his cheeks a slightly pink hue over the past few hours but not in any way that had Percival too concerned - he was just glad that Newt appeared to be having a good time. Percival had allowed himself two careful measures of Fire-whiskey but had wanted to remain sober and fully aware in case anything should go awry, not only out of concern of potential threats but also in case Newt had another episode. Watching Newt leap away from him before, barely repressing tears, shaking so violently, the fear in his beautiful sea-blue eyes and in his voice as he _begged_ the imagined Percival to leave him alone… it had torn him up inside. He wasn’t willing to let that ever happen again if he had any say in the matter.  

For now, at least, he could take solace in the sight of Newt engaging – however awkwardly – with everyone else. Morgana knows he needed a break from the shit he’d been put through if he could get it. During Percival’s preoccupation the drinking games had apparently somehow devolved into recounting embarrassing stories – Queenie was currently informing them all that if they refused to answer the question lobbied at them then they would have to take a drink of the strongest Fire-whiskey they had. Mercy Lewis, this sounded like a recipe for disaster. He glanced sideways at Newt to check that the younger man was up to it and whilst there was a definite hazy look in his eyes, Percival trusted that no one present was likely to bring up anything too terrible. His friends and brother had certainly demonstrated that they all cared for Newt and were protective enough that they probably wouldn’t go too far.

The questions started off fairly harmless – each person answering the question aimed at them from whoever managed to get a word in first. Of course, there was a lot of flirting and suggestive questions going on between the newly-wed couple and also between Tina and Theseus. He rather wished that Theseus could have the decency to be a little subtler about it in front of his brother, but Newt didn’t look particularly bothered by it. Or anything really for that matter. His blue eyes were hazy and fixed on the table still, but his finger had stilled in its tracing movements, Percival was unsure whether that meant he had drifted off into his own head or if he was just focussing his scattered seeming attention upon the conversation. He gently nudged Newt’s shoulder with his own, sending a querying look at him to which Newt shook his head dazedly, blinking those stunning eyes owlishly before fixing them on Percival.

“Sorry, did I miss something?” Newt asked, voice as hazy as his gaze, Percival frowned slightly – Newt hadn’t had _that_ much to drink but he then supposed that the Brit had looked exhausted even before the drinking began. Dark rings around his eyes and a slight droop to his shoulders even if he was clearly trying to play it off. It made sense that he probably wouldn’t be sleeping well, he couldn’t imagine the kind of nightmares that Grindelwald’s deplorable actions might have prompted. Unfortunately, Newt’s question and sudden movement prompted Queenie to bring him into the game and a wicked, lopsided grin spread across her red-painted lips. She leant forward onto the table, Jacob’s arm still around her waist as the No-Maj was sat back slumped in his own chair and Tina looking very pink in the face.

“Neeewt! Your turn!” Queenie trilled and Newt looked a bit startled but nodded and offered everyone a soft, awkward smile as they looked at him quizzically.

“Alright?” Newt’s voice was hesitant but light enough in tone that Percival didn’t feel too much concern.

Queenie, of course, was the one to get her question in first, her voice calling over attempts from Tina, Jacob and one of the middle-aged witches. “Sooo Newt, who doya’ think is the most attractive one in the room?” 

Newt flushed bright red but luckily Jacob cut him off with a loud squawk of laughter as he pulled a squealing, delighted Queenie back onto his lap by her waist. “Well we all know it’s my lovely Queenie, don’t we? She’s the bride Newt so ya can’t upset her.”        

Everyone laughed as Queenie batted at his shoulder playfully and manoeuvred herself back onto her own chair, though kept it touching Jacob’s. “That’s sweet Jacob honey, but Newt didn’t get to answer.”

Percival was beginning to get a bit worried about Newt being overwhelmed but was surprised when Newt took a hearty swig of his drink and offered the room a general, shy grin. “I think my brother might just kill me if I answer honestly judging from the look on his face, so I think I’ll just take the drink.”

There were a few whistles that interspersed the storm of laughter at the expense of the bright red Theseus, and Percival couldn’t help but send the other Auror a smug grin as Newt cautiously patted one hand on Percival’s knee under the table. It was rather satisfying to see the smug, pretentious ass get such a clear signal from Newt that Percival wasn’t just taking advantage of him in a one-sided affection. Percival may be many things when it came to romantic entanglements, but he wasn’t the sort of bastard who would take advantage of someone else’s vulnerable state. He resented Theseus for assuming that of him – grouping him alongside the likes of Grindelwald in terms of what he would do to Newt. He wasn’t anything like the perverted, obsessive, abusive fuck. 

There were already enough potential pitfalls lying between him and Newt having any sort of future together without factoring an overprotective, hypocritical, paranoid brother into the picture. Especially not one who was currently dating Newt’s friend after breaking up with Newt’s childhood sweetheart. Theseus was definitely not in any position to judge Percival or Newt for the choices they made concerning a relationship together. Social taboo or not, if Newt wanted to be with Percival as he hoped he did, there should not be any more added layers of difficulty from his own family.          

Newt took a swig of the proffered Fire-Whiskey, coughing slightly afterwards, eyes watering but smiling awkwardly, nonetheless. Percival found himself smiling too – Newt’s smiles were rare, genuine and infectious little things. Every one seemed different but still held that same sweet, awkward charm.

Of course, Theseus chose that moment to go and stick his foot in it – ruin the evening for everyone by just taking his personal grudge that bit _too far_ with the effects of the alcohol dimming his sense and sparking his fiery temper. He leant forward onto the back of Tina’s chair with one forearm and intent glinting in his blue eyes as he looked at Percival who made sure to return with an even stare. “Graves, don’t think you’ve had a turn yet?”

“That’s right! Come on Mr Graves! Be a sport!” Queenie was quick to jump in and there were a few laughs and nods around the table, Percival smiled good naturedly but didn’t appreciate the look on the elder Scamander’s face.  

“Sure, why not.”

“Great! Who’s first?” Queenie looked about a chorus of voices chimed in a moment later but of course Theseus’ was first and loudest, prompting everyone to divide their attention between the two head Aurors.

“How successful would you say you were with the blokes back in America?”

Percival’s lip twitched slightly but he constrained his amusement at Theseus’ petty attempts to embarrass him to a mere quirk of his brow. “Successful enough I’d say.” He kept his tone airy and it prompted chuckles around the table.

“Oh, come now Graves, be a bit more specific than that. How many would you say? One, five, a dozen? More? How many are we talking?”

“Theseus, I think the rule is that it’s only meant to be one question.” Tina squeezed the man’s hand where it was resting on the back of her chair, knuckles white and tight against the wood.

“But he didn’t really answer properly, did he?” Theseus said with a light smirk, but his eyes were still fixed on Percival with something angrier, Percival sighed out a dry laugh, taking a sip of his own drink.

“Unless its really so bad that he doesn’t want to answer?” This time, Percival noticed how Theseus’ gaze flickered briefly to Newt sitting beside him and the Auror understood what he was doing. He’d probably done some digging into Percival’s private life and was trying to put Newt off pursuing a relationship with him by bringing up Graves’ rather… _extensive_ experience in casual sex with men he met in bars and social events. He wasn’t ashamed of his success with men but neither had he really wanted to flaunt it to anyone – especially not Newt. Not with the state he was in. He felt anger curl in his gut that Theseus would resort to such underhand tactics but restrained himself with the thought that it was just him trying to look after his brother and was only being so unsubtle because he had had too much to drink.

He took a long moment to answer that Theseus clearly took a hesitation, smirking challengingly at him. Percival regarded the other Auror over the top of his glass for a few more moments before directing his attention more towards Newt beside him. The younger man looked a bit uncomfortable but also curious and Percival supposed that this sort of talk would have come up sooner or later; he just resented it being forced upon them now and in a public setting.

“I’ve had a wild past I’ll admit, with both men and women but nothing to be ashamed of for the most part.” He spoke with his customary casual confidence before shooting the room in general a slight smirk that had the desired effect as Newt smiled shyly back, the others laughed, and Theseus’ smirk slipped slightly. “Well except for one rather psychotic blonde I met about a year ago but in all honesty, I haven’t had much call for frequenting bars in, oh, I don’t know… about four months.” Newt clearly caught on to the specific time frame and his cheeks flared slightly, surprise lighting his sea-blue eyes wonderfully. Percival gently clasped Newt’s hand briefly under the table and was relieved as the magizoologist squeezed back.  

The game continued for more minutes in increasingly raucous laughter as Queenie challenged practically everyone in the room with lewd questions which Linda, Valena and Jacob engaged with enthusiastically – even Tina seemed caught up in the spirit. One or two questions were flung his and Newt’s way but fortunately it seemed that the more sensitive members of the group – namely Tina - avoided asking any too invasive queries and shouted over those suggested by Queenie and Theseus. He had to admit that whilst playing the game was a bit risky, it was still good fun – especially as Queenie had a habit of blurting out _too_ honest answers to both her own and others’ questions after plucking it from their heads. It transpired that playing drinking games such as this with a Legilimens wasn’t a great idea after all; probably why she had suggested it.

After a while the guests started filtering out, first Linda and Valena who were drunk enough that it left most in the room rather relieved looking. About a half hour afterwards they were then followed out of the door by the other man who was supporting the elderly priest, both pretty unstable too and singing a verse of ‘Odo the Hero’. Eventually it was only the three Aurors, the magizoologist, the baker and the Legilimens left celebrating as the game continued with more intimacy now that the unknown elements had vacated the premises.     

Newt looked increasingly droopy-eyed as the night wore on and had stopped drinking a while ago, seeming to be focussing hard on just keeping his eyes open. Percival nudged him again and Newt looked over confusedly, but soon nodded, offering a hazy smile that left Percival decidedly unconvinced. He reached out a hand to cup Newt’s jaw, tilting his head up gently to look at him properly, he was concerned to see that the Magizoologist’s eyes were not just hazy but seeming to have trouble focussing. Newt had tensed under his grip, so he released him, not wanting to overwhelm him or trigger anything by not paying attention to the little tells. He got the feeling that Newt should go home and just get some sleep in the state he was in and thought it was probably best that he escorted him what with his obvious drunkenness, exhaustion and the lingering paranoia that was plaguing Percival’s mind. “Newt, I think we should get you home.” Newt nodded a bit sleepily.

“Not bloody likely you pervert.” Percival glared at Theseus’ muttered comment but didn’t rise to it, instead gripping Newt steadily by the upper arm and guiding him up out of his seat. The young magizoologist smiled a bit hazily at him and went along willingly, leaning a bit on Percival’s shoulder for support. He knew how this might look to others, but Percival was most certainly not going to take advantage of Newt’s inebriated, vulnerable state. However that didn’t seem to occur to Theseus as he straightened abruptly, stepping sideways to block the door to the bakery with a fierce glare levelled at the American.     

“Theeeess! Your turn!” Queenie trilled, oblivious to the standoff and Theseus turned slightly to meet the confused gaze of Tina. All attention snapped to the aforementioned man as up until now he had managed to avoid having more than one question asked of him. Newt sagged further against his shoulder, shuddering slightly and Percival took another step towards the door. Theseus moved to block his way again with a challenging glare, a concerned look flickering onto his younger brother before back to glare at Percival.

“Get your hands off my brother, Graves. _Now_.”

“I’m just trying to help him get home, Scamander, he’s in no state to-”  

“I don’t care what you think you’re doing but get away from him before you do something you can’t fix. You have no idea what he’s been though.”

Percival levelled a black look of his own. “I think I have a better idea than you might expect. But in any case, I’m just trying to make sure he gets some sleep. He definitely looks like he needs it, or hadn’t you noticed?”

Theseus bristled. “You have no fucking idea what you’re on about or you’d realise that he’s better off without your damn face hovering right near him all the time!”

Percival felt his heart clench as he realised what the other was implying but swallowed down his anger and guilt to try to calm the situation before it got out of hand. He spoke in a low voice, stepping closer so that fewer people in the room would overhear and leaving Newt swaying slightly on the spot for a moment whilst he addressed Theseus. “Newt told me a bit of what Grindelwald did to him. Not much, but enough so that I know that I should be careful. I wouldn’t have stuck around unless Newt had told me that it was okay, and he did.”  

“Newt isn’t in the right state of mind to be making these kinds of decisions right now and you’re just causing him more pain so you can take advantage of that. You didn’t see what I saw! You didn’t see what that bastard did to him! What he did using your fucking face! If you had any sort of decency, you’d just leave him alone and go back to America where you belong!”   

“Decency? You aren’t in any place to lecture me on gorramn decency, Scamander. You stole his childhood sweetheart, rubbed it in his face by trying to marry her and then started screwing around with his friend after she left you!”

Theseus turned white with rage, hand going for his wand as Percival prepared to draw his own in defence. “How dare you-”

“Stop it the both of you!”

The two Head Aurors spun to face an irate Newt who was looking decidedly less hazy now - face pale and whole body shaking. Percival stepped forward in concern, but Newt stepped back, and he lowered his hand cautiously, eying Newt’s uncharacteristically angry but also hurt sea-blue eyes.  

“I’m tired of both of you treating me like I’ll break at any second. I’m perfectly capable of making my own bloody decisions and you two fighting isn’t solving anything or making what happened any better.” He turned a stern gaze to his brother who looked angry, stunned and a little contrite. “Thee, it is precisely _none_ of your business who I spend my time with or who I like. You don’t have to mollycoddle me, and you _definitely_ don’t have the right to try to attack Percival like this. He hasn’t done anything wrong except get involved in a stupid argument with you.”     

“Newt-” Theseus stepped forward, the apology in his gaze glowing brighter than the anger now, but Newt raised a hand to silence him, ducking his head awkwardly and glancing embarrassedly around the room, with a muttered apology before heading towards the door. Percival stepped forward as Newt stumbled but the copper haired man shook his head softly, glancing towards Theseus purposefully before back at Percival again with such a haunted look in his eyes that shocked the Auror speechless. He looked scared, but not in an obvious way, it was like he was fighting against his instincts but losing all the same. All he could do was watch the door shut softly behind him and wonder what the hell he’d managed to do this time.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**“Call it a day, when night becomes our mad escape, forgetting the things you mean to say. When all the right words come too late and everything falls out of place. Under the pillow, out of the race, out of the window….**

**...hope if you'll see the demon in you the angel in me…The demon's in you.”– ‘Angels and Devils’ – Echo and the Bunnymen**

Newt had tried, he really had but the hallucinations had gotten too strong, too vivid, too frequent the more he drank. It was like as his senses were dulled by the drink so was his ability to filter out all the horrible things he’d been repressing for so long. He knew that he’d been vacant and distant throughout a lot of the past few hours though he had been enjoying himself up until around the time the games began. It hadn’t been the games or questions that had bothered him, though it had been a bit embarrassing it had also been sort of funny and interesting to learn more about his friends in such way. People who were drunk seemed to be a lot more honest and willing to share and even despite his clouded, disturbing, insidious thoughts he had tried to not show his discomfort for the sake of everyone else having a good time.

He had purposefully ignored the dark eyes that he felt following his every move, the ghosts of touches that made him flinch and the whispered words that just wouldn’t _stop_. At one point he had managed to even engage the Goldstein sisters and the man called Reginald in a fairly stimulating – at least for him – discussion on the ethics of the Elf-made wine that was present. It was easier for him to talk about creatures and the things that made him passionate as it allowed his own – for once, confident – voice overwhelm the less pleasant sensations.

As much as he hated to admit it to himself and certainly to anyone else, his lowering inhibitions had most drastically affected how he reacted to Percival above anything else. He stopped drinking when he realised that every time he looked at Percival he was just reminded of Grindelwald, not just from their more recent physical encounter either – back as far as New York. Back when he had thought that the man he was speaking to really was Percival Graves. After spending more time with Percival amongst other people, Newt had started to realise why people had been quite so taken in by the dark wizard’s illusion; as much as he was loath to admit it, the mannerisms had been well imitated. The curves of the lips, the hand gestures, the voice and the sardonic eyebrow movements… he was starting to realise that Grindelwald must have watched Percival for some time to get all the little quirks down. When they were alone together or when Percival was only looking at him, he could see the difference with better clarity, as his brown eyes lit up in a warm way that uniquely _him_. Newt had seen affection in Grindelwald’s eyes, but it was always different – more guarded, slightly sadistic and fleeting. Percival’s gaze was just full of spine-melting warmth, something sweet, comforting, rare and so wonderful it made Newt feel as if it were reserved only for him.

Unfortunately, his drunken, exhausted mind couldn’t make that distinction as well as his sober one could and that led to his blurring vision and senses perceiving the American Auror to be a threat. He had tried to control his flinches and anxiousness, but he could tell that Percival knew something was wrong after a while. Newt had finally snapped when his brother and the ever-blurring version of Percival he was seeing had started spurting humiliating, ridiculous accusations, insults and confessions at each other. It had been too much and whilst he felt bad for raising his voice at them, he knew that it had needed saying – both were treating him like he was made of glass and neither was helping anything by doing so. Yes, he wasn’t in the best place – far from it in fact, but he wished they would just let him make his own decisions. As much as he didn’t want to sound like a petulant child, he certainly felt like he was being treated as one. Hadn’t he proved that he was capable of handling his own life, or did they believe him to really be so useless in their eyes?

The March rain was helping clear his head as he walked hurriedly, if a bit shakily, down the street to his own house, but he was shivering slightly as he had left his velvet jacket inside his case back at the bakery. He considered going back to get it but didn’t want to face all the questions, resentment and worry that would likely be aimed his way by everyone. He was already feeling guilty and annoyed enough for ruining Queenie and Jacob’s wedding celebrations without adding to it by going back now. No, he would go back to collect it and apologise in the morning when everyone had either sobered up or left.

For now, all he needed was sleep and with any luck - _doubtful -_ he might go through another night without Grindelwald feeling the need to interrupt it too much. He had considered asking Albus if he might be able to replace the silencing charms on his unwanted dream companion but had thought better of it considering what Grindelwald could apparently do from within his imprisonment just to test Newt. He daren’t think what he might do in retaliation for being deprived of his favourite way of passing his time – tormenting Newt. Not to mention the fact that he didn’t want to impose more suffering on others than he already had – _still are_ – Newt just managed to continue his trend of annoying or off-putting people.

He felt something nudge at his hand and looked down to see Pickett’s worried little black eyes looking back up at him, the Bowtruckle had once again snuck into his clothes without him really noticing and had just emerged from his waistcoat pocket. He offered him a weak smile, realising that Pickett had been alerting him that he’d walked straight past his house in his preoccupation. Newt retraced his steps back to his front door and waved a hand at the locks, annoyed when nothing happened – the wards staying firmly in place. He cursed lightly under his breath and tried twice more before the door finally clicked and he pushed it open. Had the young magizoologist not been quite so hazy in the head he would have probably registered the multiple sets of footsteps behind him, but as it was, he was taken off-guard when a hurling curse threw him through the open door. He slid across the wooden floor, only stopping when he hit the bottom most stair, he rolled to his feet awkwardly, looking up in apprehension for the source of the attack.

The young magizoologist got his answer as the silhouette of a shorter, averagely built man came through the doorway, sending another spell flying his way which Newt hastily leapt to the side to avoid. The man was followed inside by two other figures who flanked him, and Newt cursed internally yet again his lack of a wand. The jets of light kept coming as he weaved and dodged about the house, wood, glass and furniture exploding under the barrage of spells, spaying him with splinters and shards as he moved. This continued until one finally managed to clip Newt’s trailing arm as he flung himself around the kitchen corner in an attempt to dodge another jet of light. Unfortunately, it happened to be the left arm and several things happened at once.

There was a blinding flash of silver light accompanied by a searing pain that tore its way through the engraved markings in his skin. A flash of sudden _otherness_ engulfing Newt’s senses - first of dim, dark stone surroundings that were very familiar despite their generic aesthetic. And then an almost simultaneous impression of a dimly lit office, again stone walled but warmly lit by a roaring fire, a quill in what didn’t feel like his hand and a leather chair underneath legs that also weren’t but _were_ his own. He reeled as the images and sensations faded even as he was flung back into his own mind and body again.    

But the more unexpected effect was that both he _and_ his attackers had been thrown away from one another with surprising force. Newt collided with the kitchen table and the two of the men hit the wall behind them, they all lay there for several stunned moments, not knowing what the hell _that_ had been. Newt went to roll off the table numbly, feeling bruises blooming across his spine, shoulders and elbows but the one person still standing was faster – likely because she wasn’t injured, exhausted and somewhat drunk. “ _Incarcerous!”_

Newt felt panic melt through the muddled haze in his brain as ropes appeared from thin air and bound themselves around Newt, pinning him to the table on his back, trapped from knee and shoulder. This felt _too_ familiar, what had started off earlier as vaguely triggered flashes of memory were now fogging his eyesight with a disjointed, dizzying stream of every moment in which he had been bound by Grindelwald. His breathing picked up drastically and he found himself straining futilely against the ropes in blind attempts to just _get out_ , he cast out his magic to try to free himself, but nothing worked as his panic heightened. Newt saw the three figures come to stand in his now limited line of vision, two of them smirking down at him whilst the other just looked kind of bored – uncomfortable even. This one he recognised – it was Abernathy. The immediate association he made to Grindelwald had him panicking all the more – had he escaped? Had he sent these three people to collect him? If that were the case, then he would truly rather die right here and now. There was no way in hell he was going back near a version of Grindelwald that could do whatever he wanted to him, it was bad enough seeing him every time he closed his eyes but the thought of being his prisoner, of him _touching_ him again...no he couldn’t do it. _Wouldn’t._          

The two smirking ones stepped closer – one a surprisingly young redheaded woman and the other a larger, older dark haired and bearded man. Neither seemed familiar but Newt could only assume that if they were here with Abernathy and were after him than they were almost certainly Grindelwald’s followers. Why now? Had the wedding prompted it or was this random? An attack of convenience? Was this why Grindelwald had been so quiet lately? He had thought that the dark wizard had wanted to test him, how this was a test of anything, Newt had no idea, but in that moment, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was too busy struggling to breathe and control his racing pulse.  

“To think this one once brought about our lord’s imprisonment.” Drawled the woman, smirking at her companion and eying Newt with scathing amusement. “So weak, broken, pathetic really.”

She punctuated the statement with a careless swipe of her wand that left a gash up the side of Newt’s face and had him gasping in pain, it stung but by this point he was well versed in dealing with pain so managed to school his overwhelming fear into a look of defiance. He flexed his fingers again under the ropes, trying to push his magic out to break it but not getting any result again – why wasn’t it working when he needed it to? He forced himself to meet the amused looks of the followers and gasp out a question. “What do you want with me?”

“We’re here to exact a little payback for what you’ve done to interfere with the course of the greater good.” The redheaded witch laughed, as did her companion, though Abernathy remained looking uncomfortable and silent in the background.

The American didn’t necessarily look repentant or even pitying of Newt – not that he expected it – but he clearly wasn’t happy with being there. Maybe his fellow fanatics had encouraged him to join them, maybe Newt could take advantage of Abernathy’s sense of self-preservation. “Abernathy, you don’t want to do this. There are Aurors nearby – MACUSA employees and the head of the British department too. Do you really want to be here when they get here?”

“Oh, shut it Scamander.” The bearded man barked and flicked his wand at Newt, a length of black cloth tying itself around his mouth. The material pushing back until he felt it tight between his lips, pressing at his teeth and gums whenever he swallowed or worked his jaw, being left to hurt rather than just as a method of keeping him silent. He forced himself to focus solely upon his breathing and the grounding memory as claustrophobia overwhelmed, making him feel consumingly hot and shiver uncontrollably. _See, just like this, in and out, nice and slow._  It helped a little but the laughter from the two in front of him made memories of similar dark, malicious laughter echo in his ears again, making his efforts futile all over again. He pulled and strained against the ropes, twisting his head about as if he could somehow shake the horrible, insidious memories free with just the movement alone.

“You were right, Cory, this was easy.” The bearded man added, nudging Abernathy jovially and pointed his wand at Newt resulting in a bolt of white light and a stinging sensation striking his shoulder. He didn’t cry out even as the spell was repeated, striking his right arm, his chest again, his face and then his neck which finally prompted a choking, gasping breath as it felt like he had been struck in the windpipe with a poker. He couldn’t breathe.

The bearded wizard changed tactics after a few minutes of aimless seeming jinxes, following up with a jet of red light and an incantation of “ _Anteoculatia!”_ At first Newt thought that the spell hadn’t done anything but then he felt a sharp pain erupt on two points on the very top of his forehead, just at his hairline. He swore he could feel sharp, solid, rough textured material moving up _through_ his head, piercing the skin and growing outwards until his head felt heavier than it had before, his head lolling to the side as the pain abated somewhat but the weight remained. “There we go, now you’re just like one of your filthy creatures aren’t you, Scamander? Just another beast.” He guffawed, releasing mocking, animalistic grunts and tugging on whatever had sprouted from Newt’s forehead, tugging his head side to side and prompting a moan to make its way up Newt’s throat and out past the gag.    

“Not so tough without your creatures, your Auror friends and your precious teacher protecting you, are you?” The redheaded witch joined in on the taunting, conjuring a stream of water from her wand that left Newt feeling confused until she grabbed his hair by the fringe, pulling his head still and pouring the liquid directly into the gag. At first it wasn’t too bad but then the bearded man came over to plug his nose and he began to struggle in earnest. He could feel the tell-tale indications of drowning setting in and the panic heightened, thrashing as much as he was able against the confining hands and bonds. Water was clogging his already struggling throat, filling his mouth and with his nose airway cut off he could feel his face growing red with the lack of oxygen. _You need to breathe. Breathe for me, Newt, please._

“Guys, I’m not sure if we should do this. I thought you just wanted to scare ‘im a bit. You didn’t say anything about killing-” Abernathy’s anxious voice gave him a bit of hope as the hands left his face, allowing him to gulp and heave in air through the gag, even if it was still dripping water down his throat at an irritatingly slow pace. But the hope evaporated at the response that came from the redheaded witch’s lips.

“I know you’re a bloody coward, but I thought that you at least had our lord Grindelwald’s interests at heart. You had the honour of serving him in person and still you whine and snivel like you were still some pathetic MACUSA lacky!” She glared fiercely at the affronted, anxious man. “Is that you still are? Because if that’s true than you should get the same as the other Ministry dogs.”

“That’s not- I’m not one of them! I’m loyal, I just think it’s reckless to kill him with his Auror friends still around. Anyway, this ain’t even part of our orders! If he wanted him dead don’t you think he would’ve-”

“You’re just making excuses. You know just as well as I do that, he would want Scamander made an example of!” She flicked her wand at Newt without even looking back and Newt muffled a whimper as her severing charm this time struck his thigh, slicing through a layer of the ropes binding his legs.

“Yeah, people need to know that even though he’s gone off the grid again, he’s still running things. He’d want this, you weasel!” The bearded man joined in as Newt began to work his fingers over to the newly created split in the ropes, pulling on the frayed cords and trying to work them loose. After a minute of pulling he felt the reassuring poke of Pickett’s spiky fingers upon his own and smiled around the gag and the panic despite himself. He was thankful beyond belief that none of the seemingly random attacks or the tight bindings had hurt Pickett and that the Bowtruckle’s sharp little fingers were now getting to work on the rope even as the fanatics continued to argue. He began to pay more attention to their heated words as he heard Abernathy begin to plead with his companions – clearly realising his mistake in voicing his doubts but the others not willing to let him backtrack now.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Liza! I don’t give a crap what happens to any of those No-Maj loving bastards, honest!”

“Even if that’s true you still don’t have enough commitment to remain as one of our lord’s faithful. Your weakness can’t be allowed to taint the reputation of the cause any further.” She shot a curse at Abernathy which he barely dodged, looking terrified and Newt found himself pitying the poor fool. Even if he was one of Grindelwald’s followers, he didn’t deserve to die anymore than the dark wizard himself did. All he was doing was following the cause of someone he thought would give him a better life, and he was now going to be killed for it. That didn’t seem fair to Newt, so when the redheaded woman – Liza apparently - sent another curse at him, Newt focussed as hard as he could on calming his magic enough to stop her spell. Though the wandless, wordless spell actually threw her across the room instead of disarming her it still saved Abernathy’s life who gaped over at Newt in shock. 

Newt felt the rope around his arms giving in its tension as Pickett worked the cords and chose the moment the bearded man turned his wand towards him to pull with all his might on the bonds. They broke and he rolled off to the other side of the table with a moan of pain even as his body protested, but at least he was alive and able to move. It made him feel less suffocated. He had a chance to do something about the pain and fear this time around and he fully intended on taking advantage of it. _This is different. You’re not helpless._ He glanced under the table, reaching his hand out towards the unconscious Liza’s fallen wand, it shot into his hand and Newt managed to bring it up just in time to deflect the bearded wizard’s next hex.

“Little shit!” The man hissed as he sent a barrage of spells at Newt which forced him to shield constantly, sweating and feeling his water-soaked hair clinging to his forehead and dripping in his eyes. The magical strain of using another’s wand again and shielding whilst in pain was draining on him and he knew he would have to finish this soon or would otherwise give into the roaring blackness just outside of his eyes. A stupid, reckless but potentially life-saving idea came to him and when the next curse came his way, he stepped up over the table, bringing his left arm up to take the hit. The result was the same as before as both he and the man were blasted backwards, dual flashes of familiar surroundings and another’s body as his own coming before his eyes. But fortunately, it was the same moment that the front door was thrown open and three furious looking Aurors charged in. As Newt struck the ground hard, he saw Theseus incapacitate the bearded man whilst Tina did the same with Abernathy, who looked rightfully terrified.

Newt was feeling very fuzzy and black spots were suffusing his vision where he lay, winded and overwhelmed on the floor as Percival rushed to his side, kneeling and assessing his injuries with quick, practised movements. Newt’s hearing was coming to him through what felt like a thick layer of cotton, his throat feeling tight and eyes barely able to stay open. He heard Percival’s voice, muffled and distorted though it was. “-ewt! Can you hear me? Newt?”

He lolled his head towards Percival but didn’t have the strength to keep looking at the face that reminded him so much of what he was already drowning in. He let himself go under, sinking through the floor and through the ceiling of the cell in Nurmengard.

The pain followed him however, he could feel the stinging across the various hex marks, blood wetting his shirt and cheek and drying in trails on his neck. His throat feeling rough and nostrils burning with each heaving breath he took. Newt reached up at hand to swipe it reflexively through his soaked hair, trying to push it out of his eyes but instead brushing the rough texture of what felt like horns that had sprouted out of his forehead. He huffed out a hysterical laugh as the bearded wizard’s words came into perspective for him – it was a spell he now recognised as one occasionally used to play pranks amongst students whilst he was at Hogwarts.

He supposed that the bearded wizard must have thought it a suitable humiliation for the young magizoologist but all he could really seem to feel right now was an odd sort of numb humour. Newt released another laugh that melted into a sob halfway through and he pushed himself back against the wall, trying _hard_ to just focus on his breathing and calming himself, but not finding himself able to do so this time around. Wrenching, hysterical, laughing sobs left his shuddering chest as he pressed a hand to his lips in an attempt to stifle them lest he draw the attention of his cellmate. _Too late for that I’m afraid, Newt. what else would he be paying attention to right now? You’re the perfect distraction._

He vaguely registered Grindelwald crouching down in front of him, saw his leather boots resting on the dark stone inches in front of his own. Newt saw a pale, smooth hand reach out towards his face, hovering close but not quite trying to touch as both knew he couldn’t. It still had the likely desired effect however as Newt tilted his chin up to meet the other wizard’s genuinely concerned looking eyes. When he spoke, his voice was soft and coaxing. “I felt your pain. What happened, Liebling?”   

Newt huffed out another shaky laugh and pressed his head back against the wall behind him. “Y-you d-didn’t order your f-fanatics to a-attack me t-this t-time I t-take it?”        

Grindelwald’s brows furrowed and he seemed honestly confused. “What gave you the impression that I had?”

“The t-three people who turned up at my h-house claiming that I apparently h-hadn’t suffered ‘nough for o-op-posing you.” He shook his head, trying to clear it a bit and scrubbing a hand over his face, wincing as he just ended up smearing blood from the gash on his cheek everywhere. “Would’ve f-figured it was ‘nother test…”

“No.” His voice was still soft but veined with such a white-hot fury that it left Newt confused. Even if the attack hadn’t been on his orders, he couldn’t imagine that Grindelwald would begrudge seeing Newt hurt again. He certainly seemed to have enjoyed when he was the one inflicting the suffering after all. What had him so angry now?   

“Who were they, Newt? Did you recognise any of them? What happened?” Grindelwald’s voice was harsh, demanding and his mismatched eyes were blazing with fierce intent – Newt was further taken aback and pushed himself up straighter against the wall. He just shook his head numbly and Grindelwald seemed to grow more incensed, standing and pacing about the cell as if trying to dispel some unmanageable energy. This continued for maybe a minute and Newt just watched in perplexment before Grindelwald finally turned back to him, hands clenched beside him and a purposefully controlled expression fixed upon his face. It still didn’t reach his eyes though which remained hot, hard and furious…. Newt could’ve just been imagining it, but the blue eye even looked concerned.         

“Newt, this is important, please, tell me anything you remember.” The plea left Newt reeling and he stood too, shakily pushing himself up the wall, swaying but maintaining his feet, feeling a disturbing familiarity in the movement.

He fixed a baffled, challenging look on the dark wizard and focused upon the sound of the other’s loud but still even sounding breathing as he spoke. “Why would you care? I thought you wanted me to be tested or whatever you want to call the continued misery you choose to inflict on me. Why should it matter if its someone else who does it? The result is the same isn’t it? You want me to break apart and you’re getting your bloody wish, so what gives you the right to pretend that you give a damn now?”

His voice had risen from a quiet, shaking tone to a near shout by the end and he couldn’t bring himself to care that he was probably just provoking something better left untouched. _Don’t kick the Occamy nest…_ He had skated around so many things with so many people for so long that his instinct to seek honesty overrode his better judgement and propriety. If everyone else in his life was choosing to get whatever they wanted and damning the consequences nowadays then why shouldn’t he seek just a little of the truth he sought.  

Grindelwald looked astonished but he did answer, much to Newt’s own surprise in a quiet, oddly strained sounding voice. “I thought I’d made it clear to you by now that I care about you, Liebling. Do I really need to explain to you why that means I want to protect you?”

“ _Protect me_?” Newt exclaimed incredulously with a bitter, gasping laugh. “You can’t be serious!”

Grindelwald’s eyes gleamed with frustration as he took a step forward, clearly accepting the challenge in Newt’s words. “I assure you I am quite serious.” He smiled at Newt like the slice of a blade across his cheeks, pale slash of a mouth creasing his equally pallid complexion and eyes blazing. “You doubt my affections for you because they aren’t as insipid as those dear Percy presents you with?”

Newt glared and shook his head in disbelief. “I wouldn’t call his behaviour insipid just because he doesn’t torture me or try to hurt my friends and family to get my attention. I’d call that _sane_.”      

Grindelwald tossed his head to one side in clear irritation and fixed Newt with a look that implied he was trying to exercise patience in the face of what he perceived to be Newt’s naivety and it only served to further stoke the Magizoologist’s anger. Especially at the next words that left Grindelwald’s mouth when he stepped forward. “I don’t think you believe me to be the insane monster you pretend I am, Newt. You said yourself that you wished no harm on me; think about that if you would. Do you truly believe that you don’t feel anything connecting us other than the blood-pact? A deeper bond?”    

“There’s quite a bloody difference between not wishing horrible death upon someone and being… _romantically obsessed_ with them!”  

“Is that so?” Grindelwald quirked an eyebrow at him, lips curling in a challenging smirk, stepping forward so that they stood mere inches apart from one another. Had he not only been there in spirit form, Newt would have been concerned that the dark wizard was about to kiss him. The thought sent fearful, odd little sparks through him that left him confused. He swallowed as Grindelwald’s smile widened and he leant forward further to whisper against Newt’s ear. “Well, why don’t you educate me on exactly what makes such a distinction?”  

“What?” Newt’s voice was a choked sound that wouldn’t have been heard had Grindelwald not been standing so close. He distantly noticed how odd it was to be standing so close and not to feeling any body heat or sense of the other man beyond what he was seeing.

“If you think yourself so sure of your feelings, then why not enlighten me on the sort of behaviour that might make someone worthy of your affections? If you truly don’t feel anything then what’s the harm?” The last part was almost sing-songed out, his lips curving but eyes inescapably serious. Newt swallowed, averting his gaze to fix upon the elder wizard’s shoulder, the intensity of the burning gaze making shivers unrelated to his injured, fatigued and drenched state wracking his frame. _You challenged him, now you must deal with the results of that little act of bravery, Newt. Isn’t this what you wanted? Honesty? He’s not going to just let this go, is he?_  

“I- uh – I don’t-” He found himself stuttering worse than ever, his vision blurring and spotting distractingly, the familiarity of the intensity and _closeness_ was drawing the memories back up to the surface again. “Y-you can’t- you c-can’t touch me… not h-here. Not now…” His voice was almost pleading, almost as if he was trying to convince himself of his safety with the futile, lost sounding words. Gellert’s smile was soft and for once it wasn’t mocking or malicious, just fond and patient. Somehow that was more terrifying than the anger or sadism.

“Then what’s the harm?” He repeated, arm pressing into wall beside Newt’s head, be able to interact with what was the physical world to him even if it wasn’t actually trapping Newt in, he still felt trapped. Scared and overwhelmed like one of the creatures he had spent his life helping and freeing. There wasn’t anyone to help him here though. He’d backed himself into this corner – both metaphorically and literally. **(it was at this moment the author realised she had also done so narratively)**

“W-well… respecting p-personal space would be a good start.” Newt spoke quietly, wide eyes fixed still on the shoulder in front of him, not daring to meet those captivating, unique eyes. There were several long, incredibly tense moments of silence - the only audible thing being their slightly too fast breathing - before Gellert released a bark of a laugh and stepped backwards. Newt sighed out a breath of relief as he took the opportunity to step around the other wizard and pace to the other side of the cell to get some breathing space.

“I apologise if I made you uncomfortable, Newt. I shall endeavour not to do so in future.” New almost laughed at the ridiculous statement but Gellert’s quiet, suggestive follow up halted the sound in his throat. “Unless of course you invite me do so.”

“I don’t think so, Gellert.”

Grindelwald smiled again; thin, knowing and patient. “We shall see, but I can assure you that very little can be done to prevent the inevitable.” The smile turned reminiscent and slightly pained. “As I reminded Albus only too recently.”

And Newt remembered what he had said too, the taunting words Grindelwald had used to provoke Albus into recklessness. _“If you didn’t want me to take advantage of such a connection then you should have killed me when you had the chance…. But as it is, there is precisely_ nothing _you do to prevent the inevitable.”_  Is _this_ what he had been referring to? Newt had at the time assumed he was referring to his ‘greater good’ or his escape. This was distinctly more concerning. He eyed Grindelwald cautiously, ducking his head anxiously, jerkily along with his gaze again when the elder wizard tried to catch his eye.

“Are you going to tell me who was responsible for your current state or not?” The question came as a surprise, but Newt shook his head softly. Even the sadistic fanatics who attacked him didn’t deserve whatever wrath Grindelwald could inflict upon them from his incarceration.

“Didn’t hear any names or see any faces.”

Grindelwald let out an irritated laugh and shook his head. “You’re a terrible liar, Mein Haustier.”       

“Maybe.” Newt conceded before adding on almost as an afterthought “But I would appreciate it if you didn’t call me that.”

Grindelwald’s brows raised sceptically at the defiance lacing Newt’s tone and nodded, nonetheless. Newt was surprised at the apparent acquiescence and thought he would try to push his luck a little further even if he was concerned that it might test the dark wizard’s temporary bout of good will. _Or at least what passes as that with him anyway._

“Another thing… I don’t really appreciate you taunting Albus at every opportunity you get. I think you’ve already caused him enough pain for a lifetime. Would it really be so difficult just to let him be?”        

Gellert’s brows were higher than he’s ever seen them, and he seemed genuinely impressed and surprised by Newt’s boldness though there was also a hint of concern again. As if he were worried for Newt’s state of health in light of said defiance. Maybe he was right to be worried – maybe Newt’s strained mind had finally cracked, but for now, he found he was somewhat relishing the relative freedom of expressing his desires and feelings with less trouble than he usually would. He wasn’t necessarily comfortable around Gellert – far from it - but he found the familiar surety of the limitations of the dream-state made it easier to vent his frustrations. There would be no physical reactions or consequences here.

And even if Grindelwald found something he said particularly ridiculous or provocative there was little he could do about it unless Newt provoked him enough to elicit an attack on his friends. Even with that very real possibility he still found this worryingly easier to do than tell anyone in the waking world of his problems or feelings. There was a distant part of him that _knew_ it was bad to place such release and reliance on an outlet like this – on _Grindelwald_ – the one who had started all of this to begin with. But if he was the cause then why couldn’t he possibly be part of the solution? It wouldn’t bother him in the same way it would Percival, Theseus, Albus or any of his other friends. They all had the emotional capability to empathise with or pity him but sometimes Newt felt like he just needed to speak, to vent without fear of upsetting the one he was with. Not for a reaction. Just to be said.  

Unfortunately, Gellert was in a perfect position to offer just that. And the bond just made everything easier; he could sense what Newt was feeling and understand it without all the usual difficulties Newt had with interacting with other people. Albus could potentially provide a similar opportunity but there was the dual issue of distance as well as the guilt involved in dragging Albus further down the rabbit hole with him. He didn’t need the added difficulty of hearing Newt’s problems – of what Grindelwald had done and was still doing. It wasn’t fair on him and Newt refused to inflict that upon and well…. Gellert was right there. Every time he closed his eyes.       

He revelled in the simplicity.

Newt allowed himself to slide down the wall nearest him, hugging his shivering frame and closing his exhausted eyes. He heard leather booted footsteps wander over and then the sound of cloth ruffling and a body sliding down the wall to sit beside him. The young magizoologist didn’t open his eyes or try to move away, resigned to his acceptance and wallowing wonderfully in his weakness. The last thing he heard before his mind finally accepted that deepest blackness of torpor was that captivating, soft, consoling voice murmur by his ear and the light thump of a head resting beside his own.

“Anything for you, little Newt.”     


	12. Chapter 12

“I don’t give a single flying shit what you think, Scamander. If it weren’t for your petty need to start a fight over something that is none of your business, then this wouldn’t have happened in the first place.” Graves’ voice was hard and cutting but still restrained in the levels of guilt and anger he was truly feeling.

They were currently stood outside one of the interrogation rooms in the heart of the British Ministry and Theseus had the gall to try to prevent him from conducting the interview with the deluded, sadistic fools who had put Newt in hospital, yet _again_. Coming upon the scene in Newt’s house had most certainly not been how Percival had hoped he would first enter the young Magizoologist’s home. Even guiding a drunken, sleepy Newt inside would have been preferable to seeing him being thrown across the room by a flash of silver light, leaving him bleeding and breathing heavily in the rubble-strewn about the floor of his kitchen.

There was a part of him that was begrudgingly grateful to Theseus’ paranoia for having placed wards up around Newt’s house to warn him should there be an excess of foreign magic performed. Though how aware Newt was of such measures, Percival could only guess but knowing the young magizoologist he doubted he would be keen on it even if he did know, They had both been torn from their continued argument after Newt had left when Theseus had taken his wand from its holster – Percival doing the same in preparation to defend himself - when the other Auror had _finally_ noticed his wandtip was glowing a warning red.

He and Theseus had headed to the door instantly, followed hot on their heels by Tina who had bidden the thoroughly inebriated Queenie to stay and keep an eye on Jacob should anything happen whilst they were gone. Apparating to the front step of Newt’s townhouse, they had heard the crashes and seen the flashes of spellfire from within and not wasted a single moment more before entering. It had seemed that Newt had been holding his own fairly well if the unconscious woman and floored bearded wizard were anything to go way. Letting his Auror’s instincts take over instead of giving in to his desire to deal with the two conscious assailants rather severely, he had left Tina and Theseus to stun and bind them whilst he ran over to check on the barely conscious Newt.

It had been instantly apparent that whatever had given him such strength to fight back in the odd use of silver, blasting magic had not kicked in before the bastards had done some damage. His fetching blue clothes were lacerated across the thigh, shoulder, arm and chest, stinging marks swelling and bleeding cuts peppering the skin underneath. His hair and shirt were soaked with water and his face had been smeared with blood from a slash across his left cheekbone. But it had been the small curved, ridged horns sprouting painfully from Newt’s forehead, poking through his coppery coloured hair that had made Percival glare fiercely at the unconscious figures. They weren’t unfixable or particularly gruesome, but it was clear that they had been a personal jab at the young Magizoologist’s affinity for creatures that irritated Percival in its casual, petty cruelty. Theseus had been over at his brother’s side, pushing Percival away a bit clumsily as he gripped Newt’s hand without even glancing at Percival before apparating away with a crack. He hadn’t been particularly surprised but had assumed that Theseus was taking his brother to get medical attention so likely had gone to St Mungo's if Percival’s basic knowledge of London served him correctly. 

He had turned to Tina and told her to go back to check on her sister and Jacob in case there had been another attack back at the bakery. He had _felt_ there had been something coming and if the frightened face of Corelias Abernathy was anything to go by, this was the work of Grindelwald or at the very least his followers. That meant that the dark wizard wasn’t quite as safely secured away as he had been led to believe, which set anger and worry curdling in his stomach all the stronger than it had been before. Trusting Theseus to at least be capable of taking his junior sibling to St Mungos without messing up too spectacularly, he took Abernathy by the arm, apparating them outside of the British Ministry and escorting him harshly to the holding cells before going back to retrieve the two unconscious fanatics and depositing them in separate cells as well. He had had to enforce his professional air upon several protesting, baffled Ministry staff who had questioned who he was and what he was doing imprisoning people on their property without authority. Several stern words and a number of badge flashings, form signings and glares later and he had finally gained the officious idiots’ permissions to do his damn job.    

Of course, true to form, Theseus had chosen that moment to appear as Percival was heading inside to interrogate the snivelling Abernathy and begin to out-Auror Percival by claiming it wasn’t in his jurisdiction to interview the prisoners. That led them up to now and Percival had just about had enough of the still rather inebriated Brit’s pompous, annoying behaviour.

“Be that as it may, we’re not in America right now, Graves, and this is my duty – not yours.” Theseus snapped at him, looking weary, angry and rather dishevelled, a spot or two of blood staining his collar, sleeves and hands. Percival supposed that he had left Newt in the care of healers and despite his concern for the younger man, he knew he had to get answers out of Abernathy whilst he was still scared shitless from whatever had rattled him. Graves knew he was capable of getting answers out of him better than Theseus was, as he knew the fellow American and had a distinctly well-known reputation amongst the interrogators in MACUSA.

A reputation that most certainly hadn’t been earned by submitting to stubborn, pompous morons like Theseus.  

“British territory or not, Abernathy is an American problem and a former MACUSA employee so that most definitely makes it my problem.” He softened his gaze minutely and directly addressed Theseus’ distractingly Newt-like eyes and appealed to the competent Auror he knew was residing beneath the idiotic, domineering older brother that currently stood before him.  It helped a little to let Percival lower his voice a bit too. “You know my reputation Scamander, I don’t doubt your capability but, in this matter, you can’t disagree that I am better equipped to deal with this.”  

Theseus regarded him with an unfathomable, searching look for some time, in which Percival was preparing himself to stun the jerk and go in anyway before he sighed and nodded, still frowning but clearly conceding Graves’ point. “Fine, but I will be residing over the interview. My territory remember, Graves”

Graves knew better than to argue with the other Head of Security as he recognised the familiar Scamander stubbornness in Theseus’ eyes that he’d seen in Newt’s before. The two men were made of stern stuff even if both were prone to reckless, self-detrimental bravery at times. It made him wonder as to the men’s upbringing but that was a thought for another time, for now, he had a traitorous wretch to crack apart like an Occamy egg. They entered the cell together, Theseus closing the door behind them and going to stand against the wall, hands in pockets and a barely restrained scowl plastered over his features. Percival, having read Tina’s report on what was officially labelled as her ‘search for Grindelwald’, knew that she and Theseus had tortured answers about Newt’s whereabouts from Abernathy so understood the skittish, scared look the man sent the British Auror. He could use that to his advantage but for now, he just needed to put a good foundation into the interrogation before he could break out the big guns. Theseus was temperamental at the best of times from his experience and he didn’t trust the man to control himself whilst still rather drunk, no, it was better to wait a bit.  

Percival was careful with his movements as he approached the single chair on his side of the metal table, watching how Abernathy’s face twitched and he shifted in the magic repressing cuffs that bound him to a loop in the table in front of him. He looked scared but there was a look in his dark eyes that hinted it was more a fear of what he would face if he got out rather than what Percival could have done to him. Well, that certainly had to change. He wasn’t anywhere near as barbaric or sadistic as Grindelwald was, but he knew ways of intimidating a man without resorting to such methods.

Abernathy had always been a bootlicker, a man trying to enforce what little power he had over some whilst scurrying about after all the rest. It was likely why he had sought to join Grindelwald in the first place. On his guard duty near the charismatic dark wizard, Graves imagined that he had been tempted in by offers of an elevated status, of a better life that appealed to his petty desire to lord authority over others he saw as inferior. But that wasn’t to say he was entirely stupid, Grindelwald must have seen something in him past his worth as a switchable cell-jockey. There were at least four others who could’ve done such a thing who had been in direct contact with the dark wizard during his imprisonment in MACUSA – witches and wizards who were smarter or more influential. No, the loyalty probably didn’t only stem from a desire for power, Percival could recognise the look of a believer in the smaller man’s eyes. He believed in Grindelwald’s fanatical cause – had lost his tongue and relied upon his faith in Grindelwald to release him and gift back the severed appendage.

But there _was_ doubt in his eyes now. Percival got the feeling that whatever he and his companions had enacted tonight, it wasn’t entirely something Abernathy had been comfortable with. Was he squeamish about the violence he and his friends had inflicted on Newt or was it something else? This part remained a mystery to Graves as he continued to penetrate Abernathy with an assessing look that had the man shift uncomfortably under the notoriously unnerving gaze Graves could summon when required. Another part of the reason he spent so much attention to detail on his appearance and decorum was for situations like this – it was much easier to intimidate someone who felt insignificant in your presence. Of course, Percival also dressed well because he enjoyed it, but that wasn’t particularly relevant right now as the person he had sought to impress with his attire today currently lay injured and likely still unconscious in a bed in St Mungos. Thanks, in part at least, to the man in front of him.

“As a former member of MACUSA, I’m sure you already know the punishment you face for your crimes, Mr Abernathy.” Graves stated and the other’s eye twitched slightly, ducking his head to lick his lips nervously before bringing a glare back up to fix upon Percival. 

“I’m loyal to a better cause now. I knew what I was getting into and have faced jailtime before, what makes you think you can scare me now, Graves?”

“You mean your brief stint in max security after you turned traitor?” Graves raised a dark brow at him, leant back in his chair, arm resting upon the metal armrest and gesturing to the side as if to illustrate his sceptical amusement. “No, you wouldn’t be treated with the same respect or care that Grindelwald was. His power was enough to warrant our best attempts to isolate him. You… most certainly are not. You’ll be thrown in with the rest of the common criminal scum.” His tone was deliberately calm, bored even, but he laced his eyes and tone with a challenge – demonstrating his amusement that Abernathy thought he was worth the same amount of trouble that MACUSA went to in imprisoning his master. He saw Abernathy twitch again and knew that he had succeeded in digging under the man’s skin – not that it was difficult mind you, Graves had cracked much more hardened criminals than the man currently slumped in front of him.    

“I am one of my lord’s most trusted followers. He trusted me with secrets and duties that you can’t imagine, Graves. Not with your pathetic loyalty to that misguided world order that MACUSA has you convinced of. You’re pureblood and powerful enough to have been useful in the world Grindelwald is building. If you weren’t such a traitor-lover, you might’ve had a spot right at his side.” He laughed as if he had the upper hand and Graves could have smirked at how naïve and stupid the man was, this wasn’t even difficult.       

“Secrets is it, Abernathy? Duties? To an insane fascist terrorist who is currently imprisoned whilst you stand to pay for assisting in his crimes?” He huffed out a cynical laugh and shook his head, leaning forward with steepled fingers onto the table. Abernathy fell for the bait and pulled on his bindings, bristling visibly.

“He may be bound now but it hasn’t stopped his fine work! And it won’t! There are more of us than you’ll ever be able to stomp out. There will always be those who remain faithful.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe we won’t, but that’s still not going to stop us from damn well trying and right now, you’re right at top of our list of brainless zealots to have executed.”

Abernathy paled at that, his mouth dropping open and gaping for a few moments before he spoke in a quiet, fierce tone, trying to look smug. “I know the laws as well as you, Graves, I haven’t killed anyone, and I haven’t done anything to deserve the death penalty. You can’t execute me.”   

Percival chuckled darkly - such a rare thing that it seemed to have the desired effect as Abernathy paled to a chalk-white complexion, hands shaking. “The laws have changed in your absence. Anyone claiming allegiance to Grindelwald or his cause can be labelled a terrorist and executed on sight.”

“But I didn’t even-” Abernathy cut himself off, taking deep breaths and shaking his head a little, as if trying to recollect himself. “So what if that’s the law. Don’t care. Still not going to answer any of your fricking questions so get on with it already.” He was clearly bluffing – trying to be brave but Percival could tell he was close and thanks to a certain British jerk currently standing behind him, he knew just how to teeter Abernathy over the edge. Percival turned his head to throw Theseus a look that prompted him to push off the wall and step forward before he turned back to regard Abernathy who looked more unnerved now and distinctly uncomfortable in his cuffs.      

“I believe you remember Head Auror Scamander?” He asked, quirking a brow again. Abernathy swallowed again and nodded without looking at either of them.

“I certainly remember you, Mr Abernathy, if I’m not mistaken, you’re the piece of traitorous American scum who helped kidnap and torture my brother not too long ago.” Theseus tone was dangerous though veined with light, painfully transparent humour that seemed to further unnerve Abernathy as he shifted again. “And if memory serves, you were rather resilient to the Ministry family sanctioned methods of information extraction, so it occurs to me that I might just have to resort to more drastic methods for someone as _admirably_ loyal as you.” His tone was dripping venom and Percival almost smirked grimly at the reaction it had on Abernathy – he looked like he was going to be sick.

“You can’t do that! I’m an American citizen. You’d be breaking international law.” He looked to Graves as if for help and Percival finally let his own Auror’s façade slip to reveal the righteous rage bubbling underneath at what the wretch had done to hurt Newt already.

He shook his head, watching the last defiance slip from Abernathy’s eyes as he spoke with brutal honesty. “I won’t do a thing to step in on your behalf. Anything that happens is just what you deserve.”

“Newt did!”

Theseus drew his wand from its holster, growling out “What the hell is that meant to mean?”  

Abernathy shook his head mutely, glaring weakly before Theseus stepped around the table, raising his wand and that was all it took for Abernathy to crack. “Your brother helped me. Dunno how he did it without a wand, but he did it. Stopped Liza offing me when I told em we should leave him and get outta there.”

Percival raised his brows but was honestly not all that shocked by the news that Newt – the eternal bleeding heart that he was – had saved the idiot in front of him despite the fact that he had attacked him twice already. “What were your orders concerning Newt Scamander? What were you sent there to do?”

“We weren’t.” Abernathy blurted, looking as if he wanted to bite his tongue but his fear of Theseus’ wand causing him to babble on, nonetheless. “Liza and Scadrian came looking for me. They said they were doing our lord’s work by hunting down Scamander and teaching him a lesson for what happened in New York and then in Paris. I thought they were under orders but once we found him, I realised they were just doing it for kicks. I tried to tell em to stop when they were going too far – trying to drown ‘im but they turned on me and that’s when the lil’ Scamander stepped in.”

“Don’t try to pretend you did it out of the kindness of your heart – you were just trying to save your own worthless hide.”  Theseus growled, still looking ready to curse him but Percival spoke before he could enact upon the no doubt tempting thought.

“You weren’t attacking him under Grindelwald’s orders?”

“No, we- I- no one has heard from him in weeks except for Rosier and Grimmson but they are probably just full of bullshit. Keep on saying crap like he’s still out there and that they’ve seen im’ but I know he’s not. That bearded berk beat him in Nurmengard - saw it happen so I know they’re probably just blowing smoke out’ve their asses.”         

Theseus cut in almost before the man had stopped speaking, looking fierce and surprised. “Grimmson? Gunnar Grimmson? The bounty hunter?”

Abernathy nodded and seemed to gather the guts to smirk a bit at the British Auror “Course you Brits had no idea he was working with us this whole time did ya?”

Theseus shook his head and sent a jolt of irritated sparks from the end of his wand and Abernathy yelped as they left tiny scorching marks on his face, trying to swat at the sparks with his bound hands. Percival left Theseus to his preoccupation as he continued to question Abernathy, snapping his fingers to regain the man’s attention. “You’ve heard people say they’ve seen Grindelwald?”

“Yeah, but as I said, it’s probably all bullshit. Though nothing can keep Grindelwald down for long so its probably only a matter of time before he’s out again.” 

Percival pointedly ignored the fanatical spiel and filed away the information in his brain for future reflection and reference as he continued. “Where were these alleged sightings?”

“All over. Berlin, Paris, Dusseldorf, Stockholm, Luxemburg – even over here.”

“London?” Theseus asked, tone sharp and Scamander-blue eyes piercing. “When?”

“I dunno – neither of you seemed to be listening when I said it’s all bullshit.”    

“Humour us.” Percival deadpanned and Abernathy began to sweat, shifting even more.

“I dunno, about three weeks ago maybe?” Three weeks, about the time that Newt arrived back in London – if these rumours were true then it sounded as if Grindelwald was much freer than they had thought. And he was following Newt. Damn it.  

“You’re sure that your cohorts weren’t working on Grindelwald’s orders?” Theseus asked, tone tense and challenging.

“Yeah, pretty damn sure – neither of em even met him or joined properly. They just knew from the Paris rally that I was in his inner circle and that I was responsible for bringing Scamander to him in the first place. That I knew where to find him.” He swelled slightly in stupid misplaced pride and Theseus released a derisive, brittle sounding laugh.

“No, you weren’t, you idiot, you got lucky with a hurling spell and then Newt evaded you straight afterwards. You wouldn’t have even got close to him if you hadn’t had the cowardice to attack his assistant first.” Percival couldn’t help but admire the challenging, correcting tactic Theseus was employing as Abernathy rushed to defend himself – not seeming to realise that he was just blurting out more useful information. 

“I got him this time though - it didn’t take no dumb blondes getting in the way to do it either!”

“So, you admit to having attacked my brother? Thank you for the confirmation, Mr Abernathy, we now know what to charge you with – two counts of assault and one of attempted murder.”

Abernathy sputtered to correct him again – only digging himself a deeper hole as he did so. “No! I told you! It was Liza and Scadrian that wanted to kill im’! I just showed them where he lived and shocked him a little bit to get him through the door.”

“Only an accessory to torture and attempted murder then?” Percival drawled in a dangerous growl. Abernathy looked terrified, pulling on his chains again and shaking his head. Fortunately for the younger man, another Auror took that moment to knock on the door and call for Theseus’ attention to which he scowled and left the room to speak with them.

Percival took the opportunity to let his professional Auror aura slip for a few moments as he fixed Abernathy with a death-beckoning gaze, hands bracing him against the table as he leant inches from Abernathy’s face. “You may think your loyalty to your cause makes you better or stronger but your lack of faith and loyalty in your colleagues has cost them their freedom and their lives. I’m almost tempted to release the lot of you and see how long you last. But fortunately for you, the Ministry and MACUSA are guided by less barbaric, sadistic codes than your master abides by, so as Head of Magical Security I’m going to ensure your safety by locking you up in a nice comfy cell for the remainder of your pathetic life. Not for your sake really but because Newt Scamander doesn’t deserve to be caused any more pain by pathetic, traitorous bastards like you.”

Satisfied that Abernathy looked suitably scared shitless, Percival turned and left the cell, feeling further consternation curl his stomach as he saw Theseus slamming a fist into the nearest wall and levelling a glare at Percival. The junior Auror seemed to have taken the wisest option available to him and done a runner down the corridor. “What now?”  

“The other two are dead. Killed in their cells apparently. Barely over an hour since they were put in there and they’re bloody dead!”        

“How the hell did your people let this happen?” Percival growled and Theseus shot him a pissed look.

“You were the one who locked them up, weren’t you?”

“I handed them off to your _supposedly_ capable staff.” Percival growled, annoyed that Theseus was still trying to find a way to pass this off as being his fault.   

“Well, it seems both of our departments are springing leaks lately. Now let’s get over there before the bodies somehow manage to vanish in the two minutes it’ll take us to get there.” They strode back down the corridors towards the cells, taking a flight of stairs and entering the colder, more solidly built area that housed the cells for prisoners awaiting transport or trial.

“Cell doors were still locked, this must’ve been an inside job.” Percival commented and though Theseus scowled, he didn’t contradict him, brows furrowing in concern as they entered the cell and both men swore at the thoroughly disturbing sight that greeted them.

Both prisoners were dead alright. Throats savagely slit, likely by a severing spell from the looks of it, but the throat wound that marked each corpse wasn’t the only source of the blood that soaked the scene. No, the majority of the gore had come from the letters carved into each person’s chest, sharp, jaggedly cut words spread across the arranged torsos of the two slumped figures propped against the wall.

_Perfidy through presumption._

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INSERT OTT MUSIC REFERENCES THAT NO ONE READS ANYWAY 

**“Is there someone here keeping score? Am I the only one needing more? All the colour has drained away. All the light and the goodness is overcome by hunger leaving us undone.**

**You know I'd run anywhere I set upon. So, tell me, where do I go? Tell me, where do I go and run? Tell me where there's better love. Oh, tell me where do I go Tell me, where do I go and run?**

**I know I set myself up to fail and I obsess 'til my heart is pale I shouldn't care in the way I do but it's just out of my love for the good in you, the promise of our luck renewed.” – ‘Where do I go?' – White Lies**

**“So, tell me now where was my fault in loving you with my whole heart… You did think when you sent me to the brink. You desired my attentions by denied my affections…lead me to the truth and I, will follow you with whole life.”  - ‘White Blank Page’ – Mumford & Sons**

Newt actually had normal dreams after that. Not normal by most people’s standards but normal in that they were simply the product of a fevered, abused mind and not that of a supposedly impossible blood-oath residing in him. He suffered the nightmares of someone who had been beaten into such a place of suffering that it was inescapable. As were the ropes and rising waters he found himself submerged in. The cords tangled themselves around his limbs, his muscles, his throat, twisting, choking and constricting in everchanging, horribly unpredictable patterns that left him gasping and dying perpetually. The water would submerge him in blackness every time he thought he had risen to the surface, gotten away from the bindings… it would just rise again. He kicked as much as we able, struggling to the surface again and again and _again_ only for the horrible cycle to repeat itself.

When he woke, he spent a long time, though he wasn’t sure how long really, waiting for his head to stop spinning and his breathing to return to a reasonable pace. It still felt as if his heart was dancing out an even more irregular rhythm than when he had tried to dance with Queenie briefly under her drunken insistence at the wedding. How long ago had that been? Minutes? Hours? More? Merlin, it was hard to tell much of anything anymore. He hoped that someone had remembered to look after his creatures but then remembered that Bunty was still around to do such things so relaxed ever so slightly. He peeled open his heavy feeling eyelids and was dismayed though not particularly surprised to see the clean white walls of a hospital room in St Mungos. He had been there a few times before - enough to recognise it even if it had been a good seven years since his last visit. The last time had been when he had been taken in by a concerned Auror who had found him half-conscious with an injured leg that had been stamped on by an Erumpent. He had left as soon as he was able before said Auror could return to ask him exactly _why_ he had been in possession of the recently stolen jewel of a rich wizard’s creature collection. He still remembered the bemused look on several patients’ faces as he had limped past on a conjured crouch and still managed to successfully sneak his way past the doctors without any noticing him.   

Newt didn’t like hospitals and after his recent experiences with them, he was no keener on them – especially not of small, enclosed spaces and single, metal-framed beds, so he sat up as quickly as his battered body would allow, grinning as he found that the superficial wounds had all but disappeared. The stinging marks, bruises and gashes all in the final stages of healing – that meant that he had either been here long enough for them to heal on their own or that he had been treated well with salves and spells. The lingering bitter smells and tingling on his skin leant him more towards the latter option and he was relieved that he could just get on with going home this time around and didn’t have to wait for the magic to do its work over weeks of boredom and anxiousness.

He saw his vest and shirt lying neatly on the foot of his bed and leant forward to gather them up, feeling absurdly eager to cover up his exposed flesh as flashes of memory wheedled their way up to the surface unbidden. _Nope, not now_. For once the voice was acting as a support – a buoyancy aid rather than a despairing weight intent on dragging him back down. Newt didn’t know what had prompted the change of heart but wisely didn’t question it further as he pulled his shirt on, hastily buttoning it by slightly trembling fingers, tugging on his waistcoat with a quiet groan. His sore muscles and fiercely tingling arm were protesting the movements but not enough so that Newt felt too concerned, all that mattered to him right now was getting out of the enclosed space and into clear, fresh air. That’s all he needed right now. It would feel less constricting and hopefully shake the remainders of the nightmares and fog from his brain.

He became aware of the familiar presence nearby before the door even opened and he sighed in exasperation but also in resignation as he paused his efforts to stand, sitting instead with his legs over the edge of the bed and head lowered, gaze fixed on the ground in something that wasn’t quite submission to the man who entered a moment later but wasn’t exactly eager either. “Hello, Albus.”

“Good morning, Newt.” Came the mild reply and Newt risked a quick, darting glance up to see Dumbledore regarding him with an equally mild expression, hat still on and coat slung casually over his arm. Newt diverted his gaze to his own sleeve, fiddling with the slightly frayed white material absently as he huffed out a slight laugh.

“Is it?”     

He heard a corresponding small laugh before a sighed reply met his ears “No, I suppose it isn’t particularly.”

“Well as far as recent events go, waking up able to move in a hospital room doesn’t really count as the worst of it, so there’s that at least.” 

“True enough.” Albus laughed, but again there was a slight hollowness to it and Newt bobbed his head again but then forced himself to reassure the older man by looking in his general direction – focussing upon his shoulder for want of a less difficult contact. He could guess why Dumbledore was there so thought he should get on with it sooner rather than later.

“Would you mind if we continued this elsewhere? I haven’t found myself particularly fond of small spaces lately.”

“I was going to suggest moving our discussion somewhere more private anyway.” Dumbledore nodded and offered the coat-wrapped arm to Newt which he took after standing and they found themselves upon a grassy slope that was wreathed in slowly dissipating morning mist.

Newt recognised the knoll as being Parliament Hill in Hampstead and smiled softly at the memory of walking up here with his mother and Theseus once when they were much, much younger and they had ascended it to watch the fireworks celebrating new year over the city. They had been surrounded by witches, wizards and muggles alike, all interacting agreeably regardless of their backgrounds whilst the bright lights exploded in showers of colours over the London skyline. Strictly speaking, magic folk weren’t meant to do such things or release even the subtler forms of magical fireworks, but no one had commented upon it in the face of a rare show of solidarity – a shared joy in the simplicity of celebrating the new.

Newt wasn’t sure if Dumbledore knew this or if had been merely coincidental, but it helped calm his frayed nerves more than he had expected it to – the fresh air, open view of the city, dew-laden grass beneath his shoes and pleasant childhood memories soothing his ravaged heart just a little. He felt a little more removed from the crushing, claustrophobic familiarity of the city and closer to the simpler parts of his life. Granted his childhood had certainly been no picnic but it had been much easier than the tangled, confusing, painful mess it had grown to become.         

He turned to watch Albus as he took in the view before them, offering him a small, grateful smile. Albus returned it softly and after looking his fill, turned back to face Newt with furrowed brows and a resigned air. “I assume you know why I came to speak with you in person?”

Newt sighed and nodded. “I saw you - flashes anyway, and Gellert when I took a spell with it.” He said softly, holding up the offending arm awkwardly, diverting his gaze to study it through the material of his shirt. “I’m sorry if it disturbed you but I didn’t really have much choice. The first time was an accident and I didn’t realise what would happen, but the second time it seemed better than dying.”  

“It’s alright Newt, not even Gellert seemed to be aware of the reaction taking a jolt of magic directly to the bond would have, but I would advise against doing it again. I think it was a defensive reaction, trying to protect the host – you – and making sure to notify us of the danger in the process.” He tilted his head slightly. “It’s honestly quite difficult to predict any limitations or reactions that may occur with circumstances such as this, but I would wager it wouldn’t be worth experimenting with.”    

Newt huffed out a bitter laugh and shook his head bemusedly “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Can I ask what exactly you have experienced of the bond so far? Any feelings, side effects, memories or patterns you could recognise?” He looked almost apologetic, but it was clear to Newt that Dumbledore’s intellectual interest was guiding his queries – he wanted to know more about the bond so he might better understand it and possibly how to control or dismantle it. He could sense the intent behind the words and whilst he was reluctant to further bare details of his difficulties to him, he understood why the teacher wanted to know. 

“I can… feel intents as you said I would, can pull on memories or thoughts sometimes that don’t feel like mine. I suppose they’re yours or Gellert’s but it’s honestly hard to tell them apart sometimes.” He blanched, quick to correct what he realised he had just implied and sputtering slightly. “I didn’t m-mean that as if you- I mean it’s just all so vague and they tend to b-blur into one another so-”

“Newt, it’s alright, I know what you meant. Please continue.”

Newt ducked his head embarrassedly, flushing very slightly pink “Of course you did.” He swallowed and continued in a hurried mumble of words that he was surprised Dumbledore was able to comprehend but knew he somehow did. “There’s the dreams obviously, I go back to the cell every night but as you said, Gellert can’t- he can’t do much apart from be a bit… bothersome.” He rushed through the slight lie, weaving his words specifically so it wasn’t too obvious that he was avoiding the truth of the matter. He didn’t want to aggravate Grindelwald or upset Dumbledore further with the confession. Newt sensed that Albus was about to call him out on the half-truth so blurted the first thing he had failed to mention previously in the hopes it would throw him off the obviousness of his lie. “I- he did show me a… conversation between you though… I didn’t mean to b-be there, but I was asleep, and I can’t do anything ab-bout it once I’m there so I may have heard something I wasn’t m-meant to and I’m sorry for that.”   

Dumbledore’s brows creased together in surprise and consternation but not suspicion so when he placed a hand on Newt’s shoulder, the young magizoologist didn’t draw away or flinch too badly. It was easier to recognise even to his paranoid, shattered subconscious that this wasn’t a trick and was in fact just his mentor offering comfort as Newt had always known the man as an immovable, constantly supportive figure from the moment they met. A precious remnant of his childhood all the way through to a supportive, reliable presence in his more recent traumas. Albus was an infallible force to Newt in terms of what he had experienced thus far even if he was still aware of the man’s past failures and flaws – it only helped to cement his admiration for him all the more. That he worked past the difficulties as Newt himself endeavoured to.  

When Dumbledore smiled at him Newt dared to meet the twinkling blue eyes for the first time. “Newt, whatever you may have witnessed – purposefully or not – I trust you enough so that it doesn’t bother me to know if you are aware of what we discussed. I’d wager that the bond has shown you much more than anything we have likely said aloud to one another, so I certainly don’t begrudge you overhearing such a conversation.”    

“I suppose you have a point, but I could still understand if you were unhappy with my being witness to discussions you thought were… private.” He flushed again and broke the eye contact to fix it upon the glove of Dumbledore’s right hand. “I- he often implied that- um – that he still cares enough to- I mean he won’t be uh… provoking you anymore. I think…”

“What gave you that impression?” His brows were creased, and he looked concerned but also buried deep beneath was a fuzzy speck of hope. The words triggered a quick flash of the cell from last night, but he pushed it back, shivering finely as he took a quick breath and spoke.

“Just a feeling… like the ones I get from you... I think I can tell what he means to say sometimes.” It wasn’t completely a lie and if Albus clocked on to it he didn’t call him out on it, instead diverting his piercing blue gaze to study the view of endless sky and rooftops again. Newt could sense the melancholy seeping from him and felt guilt eat at him for his clumsily chosen words – he shouldn’t have brought it up. _Well, while you’re digging you may as well go for it with both hands._

Despite the voice’s enthusiasm, Newt’s voice was characteristically hesitant and soft; not wanting to further upset his friend but genuinely curious. Something about his sense of priority had shifted ever so slightly so that he felt a tad more confident in venturing his opinions – nothing close to his natural confidence when speaking of creatures but more of an earned or forced one. “Can I ask… what- um how you… feel about Gellert now? I mean I saw what it was like when you were… younger b-but I… was wondering what he meant when you spoke to him of… um ‘ulterior motives’ and what was ‘right in front of him’?” He quoted the last words awkwardly, a bit lamely, not really knowing how to phrase what he meant without being too explicit but Albus smiled softly, sadly and answered without even turning to look at Newt. A rare thing for him, but Newt did not begrudge him the avoidance as he most certainly wouldn’t have been able to answer such a question at all, let alone with eye contact.   

“It’s understandable that you would be curious about a relationship in which you have been squarely placed in the middle of by mistakes and ill intent of both sides. I’m honestly surprised that you haven’t ventured such queries before now.” He shook his head slightly, a deadened, bitterly fond smile twitching his lips as he continued to regard the sun dissipating the fog on the skyline. “I’m sure you have the most of it by now but evasiveness on the matter has become somewhat of a habit for both myself and Gellert over the years – out of want of privacy and a fair amount of shame.” His eyes were sparkling but Newt could no longer tell if it was with emotion, tears or the rays of the sun. “But I did love him. We were far closer than I ever realised was possible. He was beautiful, charismatic, fiercely intelligent and his personality… well, it was just _magnetic._ He made me _feel_ things in life that I had thought were reserved for the pages of poetic fancies. He made me _think_ of things in life beyond merely the academic; of helping people and creating a new world by pursuing stories of long-lost, romantically painted power. And the thought of doing that with him by my side… well… it just all seemed so perfect. Deep down I like to think I knew what he was really planning but I honestly don’t know if I ever did.”

“I’m fairly certain that he felt something similar at some point… there were times… moments maybe when he was almost thoughtful… sweet even; not just the early stages of what grew to become. I doubt he would admit it, but I think that may be because he still doesn’t really realise what it was or if he did, he ignored it because it frightened him and his view of the world… stopped him from seeing it as he wanted to. He didn’t want to prioritise any one person over others, he may be many things, but he did truly believe in a world that at the very least put magical peoples all on a level of sorts, even if his views of muggles were not quite so forgiving. His newfound policies on blood purity have been more adopted from the deep-rooted European views about such things – gaining support from the old families with them. The idea of loving someone…unbalanced all of that…skewed his priorities and the one thing he was sure of in life.”

Newt was sure that the glistening tracks on his cheeks were tears now and he felt the immeasurable bitter, biting pain inside of Albus, he could feel a similar slowly freezing dampness on his own cheeks but didn’t bother to wipe it away. It was as if both were in a trance and each was afraid to break it. Albus blinked slowly, still staring out at the scenery with painfully wide blue eyes, hands in pockets and back straight though there was a definite slump to his shoulders that suggested he was deflating slowly from within. Like how a Verillon Toad gradually releasing the toxins within them that had filled up for so long before being dispelled in order to preserve the life of the creature. Dispelling the poisonous truth as a method of salvation. Newt got the feeling that this was helping his friend and took some relief of his own knowledge that he was finally able to be some assistance to his mentor – even if only by listening. He knew better than most how beneficial just listening and not offering blind, piteous platitudes could be. Although the irony of who _he_ was relying upon to provide that same relief was not lost on him.

Dumbledore turned to him after an indiscernible amount of time, both turning away from the now risen sun to face one another, Newt looking up through his coppery fringe, despite being taller still resorting to his natural slump that bowed his shoulders and spirit. Albus’s bearded, tanned face was looking healthier even in his tear-streaked melancholic state, the colour having returned, and the thinness having receded slightly even if the haunted look and greying auburn hairs remained. His eyes were unfathomable even to Newt, even with the aid of the bond – too many complex, swirling, contradicting and unreadable emotions seething with them to be understood. His tone was strained when he spoke, and the younger man got the sense that apology overrode the other emotions in that moment more than the rest. “What Gellert is showing you now, Newt, is something close to what he once showed me though it has been distorted and intensified by the bond and the connection we hold to one another. He sees the good in you and it has left him confused, but at the same time you seem to have become an anchor of sorts for him. He has found an obsession – a passion outside of his old life, away from his past and the pain that comes with it... away from… well, me.” He took a shaking breath and looked so painfully, uncharacteristically uncertain in that moment that Newt felt a part of him shrink back at the raw agony in him. "You act as a tourniquet, Newt, you stop the poison from spreading. You make his abused, abusive nature build-up but also alleviate the pain he feels. He has resorted to fixating upon you - using you - to make the pain of his existence that much easier to bear. Both as a vent for his frustrations as well as the subject of his affections."     

Newt nodded numbly; he understood what Albus was saying even if it was something he would have much rather denied – he had sought out the truth behind Albus’ feelings and Gellert’s meanings and now he had them. He once again felt the twinges of deep regret and guilt that came with garnering such truth, but it only helped ease the impact a little that he had brought it upon himself. Just because you weren’t aware of an impending fall from a precipice didn’t mean that the fall was any less terrifying when you find yourself tumbling through still air, hurtling towards the cold, hard ground at an uncontrollable pace.

He couldn’t think of any suitable words to express his feelings anymore, didn’t, couldn’t and _wouldn’t_ inflict needless suffering or vent frustration upon someone who was suffering just as much - if not more - than he was. Taking a leaf out of his brother’s book, he took a step forward and embraced his teacher in a tight grip, gangly arms wrapped awkwardly around his shoulders and hoping that he wasn’t just making the whole situation incredibly awkward as he was liable to often do. Was there an etiquette to this that he was unaware of? Was he doing it right? He’d only really hugged Theseus before and that was always usually awkward and usually initiated by Theseus. Newt was relieved when after several increasingly anxious moments, just when he was about to release the other man and apologise profusely, Albus relaxed out of his tensed posture and placed his arms softly around Newt in return. Newt was sorely tempted to giggle when the shorter man’s beard tickled his neck as Albus’ head rested briefly on his shoulder but resisted the urge and suppressed it to a weak, soft smile. It was a brief embrace but when both men stepped back, Newt staring intently at the muddy patch of grass beneath his worn boots, he risked a glance at Albus and saw that he was smiling softly too.

Dumbledore offered him his coat-arm again and Newt reached forward to grasp it, confused when the other man laughed and gently pulled the arm back, leaving the younger man to grip the coat in his slack hand. He was confused until Albus gestured for him to put it on, commenting in a forcibly light tone. “You’re freezing, I reckon you need it more than I.”     

Baffled and unsure, Newt shrugged the slightly too small coat around his trembling shoulders, not having registered the chill in the March air until the warmth of the coat sunk into his skin through his thin shirt. Dumbledore reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved his pocket watch, glancing down to check the time and clucking his tongue quietly before looking back up at Newt. “I believe that I better be getting you back before your brother and companion organises an official search party.”

“Companion?” Newt frowned and Albus chuckled fondly

“Percival Graves. I was under the impression that you had reached an understanding of sorts of your mutual affection for one another?”

Newt flushed bright red and sputtered “I- um- uh- not exactly. But how did you-?”

He trailed off as Dumbledore chuckled again, this time with more genuine fond mirth as he raised a brow at Newt. “I would have thought it was obvious to anyone who cared to notice. But as if often the case with young lovers, the ones directly involved are often the last to know of any budding developments.”

Newt chuckled through his embarrassment lightly jabbed “‘Young lovers’ is it? I can’t imagine there are more than five years between you and Percival. Don’t sign yourself off into social retirement just yet, Albus.”

“Perhaps you’re right but I do encourage you to find affection in a place where it is readily available to you. I appreciate that you must be experiencing…. Difficulties of an unimaginable and debilitating sort when it comes to pursuing Mr Graves in particular, but if he is of the good stock I believe he is, I’d wager he is willing to be patient with you if you would only let him listen.”  

Newt nodded thoughtfully, taking the words to heart, knowing that he should perhaps use whatever this newfound confidence was to talk to Percival about a few things that certainly required discussion. The thought set his insides squirming but with the alcohol and nightmares having been dispelled by the fresh air, time and a good verbal cleansing, he felt like he could actually consider doing this. He smiled softly, gratefully at his mentor and asked something that had plagued his mind for a while. “Speaking of romantic pursuits, um, did you… try to court anyone…uh after Gellert… I mean it's been a long time and I just wondered if you ever?”

Albus huffed out a laugh and shook his head softly “It’s not as if I never considered-… I am human after all… but no, I didn’t. It never seemed... appropriate and I don’t exactly socialise much outside the school, a few academic circles and the Wizengamot, so opportunities for interactions of our… _persuasion_ don’t exactly throw themselves at me.”

Newt was rather surprised that someone as handsome, intelligent and charismatic as Dumbledore would not have had um… suitors but at the same time, he couldn’t really think of any times he had seen the man doing anything that could be construed as flirting. He was startled out of his reverie as he heard Albus laugh and looked up in question, but the older man shook his head softly and Newt shrugged in return, confused but not too concerned about it.

“Are you ready to return to St Mungo's?” Newt nodded, reaching for his proffered arm but pausing as a thought struck him and he shot Dumbledore a speculative look.

“Would it be too much of a bother if we made a brief stop somewhere first? If that’s not too much trouble and you aren’t busy?”

“Of course, it’s not, I set aside most of the day as I wasn’t sure what state I would find you in. I’m happy to do anything to help you that I can, Newt.

Newt flushed lightly and ducked his head. “Could you possibly take me to Olivander’s? My wand… well, I don’t have it anymore and would certainly appreciate being able to defend myself in future.”     

“Of course. Trouble does seem to enjoy following you almost as much creatures do after all.” Dumbledore commented with a light tone even if his eyes remained slightly clouded with disquiet. He glanced up at Newt’s forehead for a second and an amused expression crossed his face that left Newt confused until a little green stick figure swung into his eye-line. He snorted in amusement himself as he realised that Pickett had been nested in his usual perch on top of Newt’s head and had apparently found that hanging off the still present horns was a fun new game. He honestly hadn’t noticed the continued presence of the results of the attack and figured that the healers must’ve just not gotten around to removing them yet as it was admittedly an odd piece of magic. He reached up a finger to collect Pickett off the new appendage and placed him in his waistcoat pocket instead in preparation for going into public – he wasn’t quite so foolish as to flaunt the illegal creature in the middle of Diagon Alley.

He huffed out an exasperated laugh when Pickett immediately tried to climb back out and up to the fun new branches of his adopted home tree. “Pick, stop it. I’m not keeping them.” He listened patiently to the corresponding argumentative squeaks before releasing another chuckle. “I don’t care if they’re fun to swing from or if they’re a better perch, you aren’t even meant to be with me all the time anyway. You should be with your family, they already accuse me of favouritism, I’m not encouraging this behaviour by adorning myself with comfort features like I was a luxury bloody broomstick.”          

Pickett released several rude squeaks, blowing a thoroughly childish raspberry before clambering back down into Newt’s pocket again. The young magizoologist shook his head softly and offered the amused, fond looking Albus an apologetic shrug. “Sorry about that.”

“Quite alright.” Dumbledore gesture to the horns and asked, “Would you like me to...?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Newt ducked his head slightly in embarrassment as Albus withdrew his wand and waved it in a complicated pattern, resulting in a shower of red and white sparks that rested in Newt’s hair and on the horns, quickly shrinking the appendages and melting them away until the skin of his forehead was left smooth and unburdened once more. He frowned and rubbed at the patches gingerly, pleased when he felt no pain or remnants of the petty spell; nothing to remind him further of the attack past the memories. “Thank you.”      

Dumbledore nodded and proffered his arm again which Newt reached to grip it with his right hand, both disappearing with a crack from the empty hilltop and appearing just outside of Olivander’s shop. This early in the morning in the middle of March, there was an absence of students and casual shoppers so only a handful of people littered the street nearby and none gave the two more than a sideways glance as they went about their business, collars and cloaks turned up against the chilly rain. Dumbledore opened the door to the shop, setting the little bell tinkling and holding it open politely for Newt who smiled briefly in thanks and stepped through into the musty-smelling shop. It felt bizarre to be in Diagon Alley, shopping for a wand with his former teacher but Newt shook away the feeling as he knew he shouldn’t really consider Albus in such a way after all this time. They were friends after all.

A bleary-eyed, irritable Gervaise Olivander bustled out of the back of the shop but brightened instantly when he saw who it was. “Mr Scamander, Professor Dumbledore. Pleasure as always.”

“Hello Gervaise, I trust business is well?” Dumbledore enquired politely and the wandmaker barked out a laugh.

“Course it is, trouble breeds carelessness and carelessness causes accidents. People coming in getting new wands twice as often as they used to. Not to mention the four Hogwarts students over the last two years who have broken their wands practising duelling because their DADA teacher _encouraged_ them to.”

Dumbledore looked ruefully amused and shook his head “I think if they actually listened to me, they would have found that I told them to do so _inside_ lessons and not out of them, but all of the detentions in the world can’t quell some rebellious spirits.” He tilted his head slightly to look at his young companion. “Isn’t that right, Newt?”   

The aforementioned magizoologist ducked his head sheepishly but smiled all the same “Maybe but I don’t recall ever breaking my wand doing so.”

Gervaise fixed him with an unamused look across the counter as he headed to a nearby shelf where he began to rummage and commented “No you didn’t, but that certainly doesn’t excuse the state you left it in. Honestly, bite marks, scuffs, chips and cracks – it’s a miracle you hadn’t broken it before now. Took ages to fix the damn thing up but I’m sure you’ll be pleased with the repairs.”   

“Sorry, what?” Newt asked, confused and Gervaise gave him an odd look, coming back to the counter and placing a box on the surface between them, opening the lid to reveal a newly repaired wand that was most definitely Newt’s. Shocked, he snatched it up from the cushion it was nestled in and examined it, feeling the familiar bond reassert itself as his magic connected to the ash, Coral and Mother of Pearl wand. It was his. Fixed uncharacteristically smooth and shined up but definitely his. _But how the hell…?_          

“Um, I’m sorry but how did you get this?” he asked and Gervaise looked puzzled

“Your friend brought it in about a week ago and told me you’d collect it after it was fixed. Paid in advance and told me to keep it until you came in to get it. That much gold, I would’ve made you a whole new one, but she was pretty insistent.”

“She? What was her name? Who was she?” Newt asked, even more bewildered than before, gripping his wand tighter in his hand.

“I don’t know, she didn’t leave a name and I didn’t recognise her. Had a French accent so probably wouldn’t have bought her wand from me or my father. Pretty, dark hair, dressed up fancy and European style.”

Newt just stared, coming to the realisation that whoever had delivered his wand to be repaired and returned to him likely had been in Nurmengard – a follower of Grindelwald then. He hadn’t seen anyone other than Abernathy or Grindelwald in the castle, but he supposed he had been confined to one room for most of his time there. Was this another test? Or was it another attempt at bizarre affection? Newt’s anxiety and confusion caused sparks to shoot from the end of his wand and he looked down in surprise to see his left hand clenched tightly about the instrument. That was odd, he wasn’t left-handed, he absently tucked the wand back into his pocket, feeling reassured by the familiar weight after so long.

He turned to Dumbledore and he took the cue for them to leave, the elder wizard nodded and apparated them to Newt’s front doorstep, he was slightly staggered for a moment by the abrupt change in location but was quick to recover and let himself back in, closing the door behind Albus. He looked about for somewhere to sit before realising that all the furniture save for the kitchen table was still broken and scattered about them. Newt retrieved his wand from his pocket and revelled slightly in waving it in a sweeping pattern at the mess, setting everything to rights with reassuring ease. He hadn’t realised how powerless he had felt without his wand; having it back now - even under suspicious circumstances – was a relief. Newt felt like a little part of his old self had returned to fill the overflowing void in him.   

“Gellert was the last to have your wand wasn’t he, Newt.” Dumbledore’s voice was quiet, and it wasn’t really phrasing the comment as a question, but he nodded numbly anyway. “And it seems that Miss Rosier has taken it upon herself to return it if the description Gervaise gave us is anything to go by.”

Newt nodded again, not really knowing if he was right, but the name sounded familiar even if he didn’t know her by description. He stared down at his wand in conflicting fond relief and anxiousness. Albus sighed and Newt looked back up at him from where he had been examining his wand. “I am doing my best to dismantle Grindelwald’s web of followers and contingencies but the international tensions and the complex nature of his methods are making it difficult. All I can advise you to do in the meantime is exercise caution and be careful who you trust.”

“Yes, of course.” As Newt glanced about his living room, at the nearby bookshelf, he suddenly remembered something he had meant to say but had neglected to do so what with everything else that had been going on. “I forget to thank you, Albus, for getting me published and the forwarding note… it was… very kind.”

Dumbledore smiled fondly and for once that day it wasn’t tainted by concern or anything else. “Your incredible talent got you published Newt, I just added a few lines reminding people of that fact. I’m sure you’ll come to realise this soon enough, but your work is uniquely insightful and clearly the result of a dedicated, innovative mind.”

Newt blushed furiously and smiled a little, feeling his insides rekindle with the proud glow that the book’s inscription had triggered. “I don’t know about any of that but thank you all the same.”

Albus smiled briefly before checking his pocket watch again and straightening, meandering back towards the front door, Newt following awkwardly behind, hovering in the corridor. “I would linger but I fear that neither Theseus or Percival will respond well for my abducting you from your hospital room and I would rather avoid further conformation with the Ministry if it’s all the same to you. They’re already quite unhappy with my actions concerning Gellert without adding kidnapping on top of that.”

Newt huffed out a laugh, knowing that Dumbledore was most likely right before he rose his eyebrows in question as he realised just what he had said. “Hang on, why would they be coming here? Surely they’d go to St Mungo's first?”

“I may have taken the liberty of leaving them an explanatory note in the hospital room.” He offered a completely unrepentant smirk that made the younger wizard instantly suspicious and tipped his hat to Newt, stepping out of the front door with a jovial. “Good day, Newt.”

“Oh c’mon!” Newt muttered exasperatedly as not moments later, there were several cracks of apparition and he was descended upon by a flurry of overprotective Heads of Magical Security and a hungover looking Auror.                                                           


	13. Chapter 13

**“Burn up with the water, the floods are on the plains, the planets in a rose, who knows what they contain? And my brain is like an orchestra, playing on, insane, will you love me like you loved me in the January rain?**

**…And my heart is playing hide and seek, wait and count to four, will you love me like you loved me and I'll never ask for more…**

**When you were there so sweet and very full of field and stars. You carried all of time, Oh and, heavens, when you looked at me, your eyes were like machinery, your hands were making artefacts in the corner of my mind.**

**...with our aching planning, high and smiling, cheap drink, dark and violent, full of butterflies, the violent tenderness, the sweet asylum, the clay you find is fortified, we felt unfocused fade the line. The sugar rush, the constant hush, the pushing of the water gush, the marching band…**

**…And I can feel the numbness accompany my plight, and I know that someday soon I'll see you, but now you're out of sight and you'll kiss me like you used to in the January night.” – ‘Mary’ – Big Thief**

“What the hell were you thinking running off like that, Newt?”

The young man in question blinked bemusedly at his brother across the newly righted kitchen table where they sat – or rather he sat whilst Theseus hovered like an agitated bird of prey - and shook his head a bit numbly before replying in a tiredly patient voice. “I’m completely fine, there wasn’t any reason for me to stay.”

“Fine? Newt you were attacked-”

“And that isn’t anything very new is it, Thee?” Newt found himself cutting over his brother to the astonishment of everyone in the room as the young magizoologist drew once again upon the odd numbed sense of confidence he had so recently developed. “I’ve been in fights before and chances are I will be again. I said it before but as it seems no one listened the first time I’ll say it again – I don’t need you tracking my every movement like this. I’m _fine_ and nothing too dreadful happened this time around. Can’t you just be glad of that and let it go?” He directed the last part to the room in general and he received incredulous looks from both Tina and Theseus, whilst Percival just looked thoughtful. Theseus scoffed, taking a step forward to try to place a hand on Newt’s shoulder which he carefully, though not cruelly, shrugged off and stood, pacing around the table to lean against the kitchen sink. He crossed his arms over one another, clad in the slightly too small coat that bunched up around his elbows slightly, but he didn’t really notice in light of all the odd looks he was getting.     

“It's okay to admit if you need help, Newt. I mean you don’t even have a wand, it's understandable that you might want some support.” Tina’s voice was soft and sympathetic, her salamander-like eyes shining with grogginess but also concern as she sat across the table from him. Newt ducked his head awkwardly and dug out his wand from his pocket, holding it aloft for all to see before replacing it and huffing out a measured breath.

“See, got my wand. Not quite as helpless as you might think.”

“But how...?” Tina trailed off when Newt cleared his throat a bit awkwardly and replied without meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Albus was kind enough to escort me to Olivander’s where I got this, so no need to be worried anymore.”

Percival’s head jerked up slightly and he furrowed his sculpted dark brows at Newt in a searching look. At first, the young magizoologist was worried he was going to question the evasiveness of Newt’s wording concerning whether the wand was new or not but was momentarily relieved when he instead asked “What was Dumbledore doing in London anyway? How did he know where you were?”

 _Ah, bugger_.

Newt hastened to find a way to answer the question that avoided mentioning the very awkward matter of the blood-oath connection and stumbled together the next most likely thing that came to his mind. “Ah, I uh believe that Theseus isn’t the only one who set up wards to keep an eye on me.”    

Percival and Theseus both looked irritated by the implications of what but Newt couldn’t think of a better way to explain that it wasn’t really Dumbledore’s fault that he had noticed Newt’s pain without having to explain the blood-pact. And he really didn’t want to have to do that. It would only create unneeded, unresolvable tension that Newt didn’t want to have to deal with on top of the already stacking issues between him and those he cared about. Speaking of which…

“Percival… could I uh… speak with you?” He asked sheepishly, glancing at the Auror through his fringe nervously, cheeks colouring as he felt Theseus’ gaze sharpen on him. Percival’s brows rose again and he looked uncertain for a moment before Newt added softly. “Alone?”

Theseus looked more than ready to interject but Tina took him firmly by the hand, rising and guiding him from the kitchen by the shoulder, sending Newt a soft, encouraging smile which he returned gratefully. Theseus didn’t look happy, but he didn’t argue with Tina’s firm guidance out of the kitchen and a few moments later both remaining men heard the click of the front door shutting behind them. Now that he was alone in a room – his kitchen nonetheless – with Percival he found that his newfound confidence had begun to falter. Leaving him unsure of where to look or how to hold himself as he stood leant against the sink, the older man sitting in a nearby chair, shirtsleeves rolled up around his elbows and neat coat draped over the back of his seat. His dark hair was slightly dishevelled around the shaved areas, seeming to have grown out a few inches since his time in hospital but still stylishly held. His face was pale as ever, whiskey brown eyes regarding Newt oddly, cautiously but also with some degree of interest – as if he was surprised that Newt had plucked up the courage to ask to speak with him alone in front of others. Honestly, Newt was surprised at himself, but now was struggling a way to find the words he needed to say without sounding pathetic, stupid or ridiculous.

The American seemed to realise his struggle and thankfully broke the awkward silence that had been permeating the air of the kitchen almost as strongly as the scent of slightly overripe vegetables. The smell being a result of Newt’s collection of various exotic foodstuffs with which he fed to his pickier creatures – namely Dougal and the Diricrawls.

“I was impressed by your skill in defending yourself without the use of your wand.” He commented, tone casual but genuine as he cocked his head to the side slightly. “Abernathy told us that you stepped in to defend him?”

Newt bobbed his head in an affirmative, nonchalant gesture and grimaced slightly at the memories the name brought up. “Oh, um yes I suppose I did. He was trying to stop them from going too far, I think. I didn’t reckon it was right to let his colleagues kill him just for having second thoughts.”

Percival’s brows rose incredulously before he sighed “As noble as your intentions may have been Newt, I wouldn’t encourage you to risk yourself for the likes of him in future. Self-preservation seems to be a desperately rare trait in your family from what I’ve seen.”

Newt forced himself to ignore the burning bile sensation that tickled the back of his throat at the mention of family and was pleased as he found focussing his gaze on Percival’s calm eyes helped fixate himself in the moment. Not in the memories of what had occurred but in what was happening right now – it was a refreshingly relieving sensation. “Well, it helped me break through it all and get myself free, well that and some help from Pickett of course.” He tagged the last part on with a soft chuckle when he heard Pickett squeak indignantly from the pocket of the grey overcoat he still wore. Darn, he hadn’t given it back to Albus when he left. _Oh well, you can return it to him whenever the next life-threatening disaster occurs._ Encouraging as usual.

He glanced from the coat back over to Percival who was regarding him with an oddly charged look that left the magizoologist confused for a few moments before it clicked in his head that he was wearing what was clearly another’s man’s coat after having disappeared with him. A man who Percival seemed to have already made some assumptions about if his questions concerning Albus at the wedding had been anything to go by. Newt flushed slightly and shrugged off the too-tight coat with a bit of difficulty, draping it on the chair in front of him once he managed to get it off and shrinking back slightly when Percival’s stare intensified.

“It was cold on Hampstead Heath and I forgot to give it back.” He blurted and Percival nodded absently, though still looking a bit perturbed by something and didn’t say anything. In an effort to fill the sudden silence, Newt cleared his throat again and decided to get on with what he had wanted to discuss for some time, picking through a hundred different word combinations before finally speaking.

“So, you’ve been successful with a lot of men then?”

_Oh, Merlin’s beard, well done there Newt, really, of all the things you thought of to say and you picked possibly the stupidest one._

Percival huffed out a bemused laugh and tilted his head, cricking his neck to one side with a hand rubbing absently at the back of his head – almost as if he were nervous. “I suppose you could say that, yes.”

“Well yes, you did.” Newt blurted and quickly jumbled in an explanation to fill the awkward quiet. “At least that’s what you said to Theseus last night when he was being such an ass- or sorry, was it last night? I wasn’t quite sure how long I was asleep for. B-but in any case, I just remember you s-saying…um, that….” He flushed bright red as his rambling nonsense trailed off and his brain finally managed to catch up with his mouth and commanded it shut again. He stared very fixedly at the scarred linoleum under his booted feet and prayed for some sort of imminent disaster to swallow him up before he had to meet Percival’s no doubt annoyed and confused gaze.     

Newt was shocked when he heard the scrape of chair legs on the floor, followed by the click of sure footsteps before familiar smart, shiny leather shoes appeared inches from his own battered leather boots. A hand gently tilted up his chin to meet hot, whiskey coloured eyes that seemed mildly amused but also blazing with something much more… well _more._ Whatever it was scorched Newt’s insides pleasantly like honey melting in the hot sun, he felt as though he were melting and leaking through his own skin, the heat rising to his skin and causing him to flush harder than ever. He wants to apologise for rambling on so foolishly, but his words had completely escaped him as he notices how close Percival is actually standing, but even as the familiar tension rises in him, the strange, untraceable confidence and the reassuring weight of his wand in his pocket helps to quell his nervousness.

He manages to meet Percival’s gaze head-on and finds his breath catching in his chest in a much more pleasant way than usual as the other man speaks, voice wafting a surprisingly pleasant aroma to envelop him. It's Percival’s usual citrusy, piney scent but mixed ever so slightly with the lingering honey burn of Fire-Whiskey from the night before. Not much, but just enough to make Newt feel as heady as if he had drunk the liquid himself – the warmth, scent and proximity going straight to his swimming mind. “What I said before was true, yes, up until recently I have been very… casual in terms of my romantic endeavours but believe me when I say that my intentions towards you are quite different. I’ve told you before that I’m willing to be as patient as you need because I care very much about you. You don’t have to rush into anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Newt swallowed, licking his suddenly dry lips and finally managed to produce words that didn’t humiliate him exponentially, even if they were difficult to admit in other ways. “I want- I really do want to- but I… don’t have um much experience as far as these things go. I just thought you should know.”

“I gathered as much from the thoroughly over the top way your brother has been hounding me if I so much as exist in the same city as you.” Percival’s voice was a low, teasing chuckle that tickled Newt’s cheek with warm breath and he released a huff of nervous laughter himself.

“I’m not quite as delicate as Theseus seems to think, he just gets a bit controlling when it comes to me…” Newt’s smile dropped slightly as he admitted in a softer voice. “He used to protect me a lot when we were younger, and I suppose he never really stopped. I don’t blame him for worrying even if he crossed a line with what he said to you. I’m sure he didn’t really mean it.”

“I’ve faced worse, believe me.” Percival said the words as a humoured reassurance, but Newt found himself nodding soberly, his mood catching Percival’s as both expressions turned tense.

“We both have.” He whispered. Percival opened his mouth to reply, looking unfairly contrite as his dark, warm whiskey eyes widened but Newt followed the overwhelming instinct and grasped onto his courage in that moment and brought their lips together in one jolting, warm movement. There is a moment of blind panic when Percival froze against him, lips unresponsive and body rigid before there was a moment of utter relief and swiftly following bliss as he sighed into Newt’s mouth and began to reciprocate.                

There is a faint scratch of stubble brushing his cheek and it makes Newt’s skin tingle pleasantly, sending his eyelids fluttering closed. Percival’s lips are surprisingly soft, warm and forgiving under his own chapped, trembling ones and Newt finds himself wrapping his hands around the older man; one twisting itself into his hair and the other around a broad, muscular shoulder. He pulls him closer, finding that with his eyes closed its much easier to imagine that the man in his arms is truly who he knows it is – no eyes that could change into another’s at any moment and no risk of seeing familiar malicious glee. Only the warmth and pleasure of the kiss and Percival’s body pressing him against the cool porcelain behind him, it should remind him of other cold, hard surfaces that had been at his back before, but all the copper-haired man can focus upon in that moment is the kiss.

It feels as though Percival is holding back – the kiss feels too much like just Newt to be a fully shared experience – it’s a bit awkward, shy but sweet and slowly building in confidence. Newt finds himself tugging lightly at Percival’s waistcoat in an attempt to gain a more honest reaction from him, pleased when, after a brief pause in which they both gasp for breath, Percival surges back forward and captures Newt’s lips in another instance of liquid heat. This time he can feel Percival’s dominant personality coming through in the movements, his strong, slightly rough-skinned hands tangling in the copper curls at the nape of Newt’s neck, using the grip to gain leverage as Newt parts his lips at the press of a soft yet insistent tongue. He can feel his heart hammering loud and hard in his chest, feel his pulse pounding in his ears so that he can barely hear anything else, but he can’t really figure out if it’s because of panic or something else much more enjoyable. He finds he doesn’t care though, just opens his mouth further to allow Percival’s probing tongue to explore the insides of his mouth, its unfamiliar but exhilarating at the same time.

He appreciates in those moments how different Percival’s spine melting kisses are to the harsh, possessive, biting, sucking movements that Gellert made before – the dark wizard seemingly having avoided the intimacy or romantic associations of the mouth in his explorations. Simply sticking to marking and claiming Newt’s neck in a clearly possessive manner. At the time he had seemed much more interested with dominating and humiliating and there was a brief, fleeting, incredibly guilty moment when Newt wondered how Gellert’s approach to kissing him might’ve changed now. He jerks away from the thought violently but also from Percival in the same moment as self-loathing and confusion flooded through him. He breathes heavily, gasping slightly and pressing his hands onto the cool porcelain of the sink behind him as a steadying, grounding force.

“Sorry, Newt, I’m- are you alright?” Percival sounds uncharacteristically unsure of himself and Newt looks up with further guilt eating at his swirling insides when he realises that Percival had thought _he_ had done something wrong – that _he_ was the problem. With an apologetic smile, Newt was quick to offer reassurance by reaching out to softly grip Percival’s hand where it was slumped at his side, he pulls it forward against his chest and grips it tight.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Percival’s dark whiskey eyes search his own sea-blue for several long moments – seeking truth before relief bloomed across his lightly flushed face and he offers a smile that set Newt’s heart-melting all over again. “Good. I didn’t mean to get quite so carried away, but you can’t honestly tell me you have no experience, Newt, that was- you were, well _incredible._ ” He breathes out the last word and Newt flushes bright pink, the warm, rare, proud glow rekindling in his chest from where it had been initiated by Albus’ kind words on the heath.

“Well apart from Leta there was the Veela woman, so I suppose that might’ve done it. But I have to say I enjoyed _this_ far more.” He ducks his head and offers a cheeky grin that left his brain reeling at the oddity of the boldness but his pulse racing at the response it gains from the usually stoic American wizard. Percival looks thoroughly taken aback, both at the mention of the Veela and the boldness of the words, but a fondness overrides the surprise as he steps closer again. He grips the backs of Newt’s thighs, just under his arse, and swiftly lifts Newt’s legs out from under him, chuckling slightly as Newt yelps in shock and wraps both hands around Percival’s shoulders as he is deposited on the sink edge.

In this position, Newt has to duck his head to meet Percival’s lips again, but it also helps to give him a position of leverage which he appreciates, his pulse slows a little as he feels that bit more in control of the situation. He appreciates Percival considering his troubles enough to do such a thing and takes advantage of the positioning by angling Percival’s lips up to meet his again, this time much softer, slower and sweeter but still with a heady kind of need mingling between them. His whole body is tingling, and he is pleasantly surprised, though still rather embarrassed when he realises that his dark-blue trousers were becoming increasingly tight in the beginnings of arousal.

He broke off with a gasp, unsure of how to handle the development, flashes of insidious memory invading his senses as he remembered the last time he had become physically stimulated by the touch of another and feeling bile bubbling in his stomach at the thought. He swallowed desperately, pressing his eyes closed tightly to repress the surge of conflicting, confusing sensations and remembrances. _Newt, you just need to breathe, come on focus now, deep breaths. Nice and slow, in and out, in and out. Like this there you go._

It took Newt several far too long moments to realise that the voice wasn’t in his head or memories this time but was in fact the real Percival in front of him, one that was standing further away but maintaining a light, grounding grip on his wrist as he held his hand to his own chest. Newt smiled weakly at the familiar reassurance, the words and the concerned, quiet patience residing in Percival’s gaze. When he saw that Newt was back with him, he released his grip on Newt’s wrist and slowly lowered his hand back down to meet with his other where he held them behind his back in a seemingly deliberate gesture. As if he were forcing himself to not touch Newt even though he wanted to; the gesture made warm fondness blossom in his chest and he slid slowly, carefully off the sink edge to place his booted feet back on solid ground.

His knees shook slightly, and he repressed the urge he felt to lunge back at the older man and simultaneously the one to run as far and fast as he could for shame of what Percival didn’t realise. The American probably thought Newt had just been overwhelmed by a flashback or memory but it had been more than that – it had been the fear of what his own wandering mind had stumbled upon whilst being lost in the first proper kiss of his life. The considerations he had made - _was making_ \- of the sadistic madman who had tormented him and stolen Percival’s identity… that he had wondered what it would be like if the man pressed against him was _Gellert_ …. It was despicable in the extreme. Even if it had been fleeting and unintended it still filled Newt with disgust that he would do that to Percival. Ruining a long-awaited blissful, _amazing_ moment between them by pondering such things.    

“Newt.” Percival’s deep voice was low and coaxing and it made the guilt squirm away from the warm, melting feeling inside him that he couldn’t possibly admit to the wonderful man who had shown him such passion and kindness what was really bothering him. He daren’t open his eyes and look into those gorgeous warm whiskey ones. Newt heard a sigh and felt a brief, sweet brush of lips on his cheek, teasing his senses and prompting him to angle his face unconsciously into the contact. He heard a breath of a chuckle against his cheek, the citrus-pine-whiskey scent wafting again across him and without even registering the action he pressed his face forward in Percival’s neck, eyes still tightly scrunched closed in guilt but allowing himself the underserved comfort of burrowing into the clean, warm, muscular shoulder. He felt Percival stiffen slightly before he wrapped his strong arms loosely around Newt, tucking gently around the dip just above his waist and holding him close. Newt let himself be held, rubbing his nose softly into Percival’s neck and awkwardly snaking an arm around his waist in return whilst the other hung limply at his side.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Newt pulled back and Percival let him go easily, stepping back several purposeful steps, taking deep breaths and brushing a hand through his hair in a smoothing movement from where Newt could see finger-shaped furrows residing in it. The warm, tingling sensation returned at the sight of the dishevelled, slightly flushed state Percival was in, feeling an odd sort of pride that he had managed to have a positive effect on the man even if he had also caused awkwardness and annoyance as per usual.  

“So uh, a Veela huh?” Percival’s teasing though genuinely curious sounding tone cut through the tension and Newt chuckled nervously, nodding.

“Oh yeah, I stopped poachers in Bulgaria from taking her hair for wand making and she took me back to her clan, then took me aside and kissed me.”

Percival raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed and slightly amused “Must’ve been quite the experience. From what I hear most people who encounter Veela get lured in by their song and then set on fire.”

Newt released a huff of nervous, dubious, reminiscent laughter “Well it certainly was that unfortunately, she chose to do it within eyesight of her father and three elder brothers who didn’t appreciate a human stranger trying to steal away their women and I had to make a run for it.”

Percival grinned and shook his head bemusedly “Newton Artemis Fido Scamander – renowned magizoologist, successful author and thief of Veela maiden’s hearts. I’m sure there’ll be poems and songs written of your dastardly ways.”

Newt giggled and swatted at Percival’s dramatically gesturing hand with his own, wincing slightly as the lines of silver twanged and stung a bit at the contact but ignored it in favour of returning a genuine grin of his own. “Bit rich coming from you _Director of Magical Law Enforcement_ Graves. Not to mention your MACUSA founding family lineage and personal reputation. I’d be surprised if there weren’t a fair few mentions of exploits in novels and newspapers.”

Percival chuckled in something that wasn’t quite bashfulness but wasn’t not either “You may be right about that, but I’m old news – my reputation has tarnished over recent years whereas your illustrious career seems to be just getting started.”

“What do you mean by ‘illustrious’? I’ve only just published one book and I can’t imagine it was particularly popular. I’m not exactly a well-liked member of the wizarding community after all.”

“Well that makes two of us.” Percival snorted before turning a little more serious, focussed even. “But in all seriousness, do you not realise how successful your book is already? It only came out barely a week ago but by the time I tried to purchase my own copy on my way over from New York it was already sold out.” Newt’s jaw hit the floor and his brain took several painfully long seconds to reboot itself enough to close it again and then gain the coherency to speak.

“I’m sorry- _what? Sold out?_ But why? How?” He sputtered and Percival gripped his shoulder, lightly squeezing it reassuringly.     

“You should have more faith in your work. People seemed to respond surprisingly well to a fresh outlook on magical creatures – especially when it has a glowing forward from a renowned academic figure such as your Professor Dumbledore.” The last part was said with a very slightly bitter edge, but Percival was clearly restraining his unfounded jealously as he offered Newt an encouraging and rather despairing smile. “You really are oblivious to your own brilliance, aren’t you?”

Newt flushed and shook his head disbelievingly “I knew it had been published but I never thought it would sell-out anywhere – especially not in America. Are you sure they just hadn’t ever had the book in the first place? Maybe that was it, that’d make more sense, yes-”   

Percival gripped Newt’s hand firmly and cut over him smoothly with amused patience. “Newt, I’m sure, I went in and asked at three different shops so that I could turn up here with a copy for you to sign but everywhere had sold their last copies by the time I got there. Poor planning on my part I suppose.”

“Well- I – uh-… well, bugger.” Newt finished lamely, staring dumbfounded at the kitchen chair in front of him as Percival chuckled under his breath.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Newt opened his mouth to offer up a more coherent response but snapped it shut when there was a sharp knock on the front door and moments later Theseus and Tina re-entered, this time followed by Jacob and Queenie. Percival and Newt shared an awkward, amused look before stepping forward around the table to relieve the palpable tension still lingering between them in the wake of the guests. Newt awkwardly readjusting the waistband and belt of his trousers when he was sure the kitchen chair in front of him concealed the movement from anyone else.   

“We brought pastries!” Queenie trilled, looking _suspiciously_ ecstatic as she beamed brightly at both men and began laying out numerous paper boxes of baked goods onto the scrubbed wooden table that wafted the smells of raspberries and cinnamon. Newt blinked in shock and bemusement as all the newcomers settled around his small table, cramming in conjured chairs to sit and each grabbing a box, digging in soon after. Queenie waved her wand at the nearest cupboard and summoned Newt’s limited, chipped blue crockery to fly out and settle on the table too in the trappings for tea. Tutting when she found no coffee and only three cups but shrugging and making do. Percival looked almost as bemused as he did, and both exchanged a shrug before sitting too.

“We thought you might appreciate a bit of afternoon tea, honey – or whatever it is you Brits call it. You’re so skinny that it’d be a crime not to feed you up with us just down the road.” 

Newt flushed slightly at the comment and offered a weak, awkward, though still grateful smile. He got the feeling that Queenie was trying to make up for the unfortunately gifted stew and her inciting behaviour at the wedding and though he blamed her for none of it, he still dug into the nearest box of homemade pastries. He was delighted to see his favourite kind and began peeling apart the sticky swirls of warm, deliciously flaky pastry, moaning appreciatively under his breath at the taste of cinnamon that burst across his tongue. Though it made him flush self-consciously as he realised the taste was mingling with the lingering traces of citrus and whiskey that resided on his lips and the inside of his cheeks. He noticed everyone at the table regarding him amusedly and flushed red, ducking his head to focus fully back upon dismantling the pastry with trembling fingers.

Gradually all the others diverted their gazes elsewhere and began to start up light conversation that Newt let flow over him in a comforting background noise. Newt risked glancing to the side of him and briefly met Percival’s fond gaze, the older wizard sending him a wink before turning his attention back to Queenie, Jacob and Tina’s babbling about the state of the bakery and what still needed doing.     

This felt nice; like something he could easily get used to.        

**A/N – yeah, sorry this sucked and was too short, but it was something that kind of was produced in a caffeine-induced haze at 2:30 in the morning (like all good writing is) and well… yeah.**


	14. Chapter 14

**“History's been leaning on me lately, I can feel the future breathing down my neck and all the things I thought were true when I was young, and you were too, turned out to be broken and I don't know what comes next.**

**In a world that has decided that it's going to lose its mind, be more kind, my friends, try to be more kind.**

**They've started raising walls around the world now, like hackles raised upon a cornered cat, on the borders, in our heads, between things that can and can't be said. We've stopped talking to each other and there's something wrong with that.**

**So, before you go out searching, don't decide what you will find, be more kind, my friends, try to be more kind.**

**You should know you're not alone and trouble comes, and trouble goes, how this ends, no one knows so hold on tight when the wind blows.**

**The wind blew both of us to sand and sea and where the dry land stands is hard to say. As the current drags us by the shore we can no longer say for sure who's drowning, or if they can be saved.** **” – ‘Be more kind’ – Frank Turner**

Head Auror Theseus Scamander was many things in life, but he was not unbreakable. He had dealt with war, abuse, a trouble-magnet younger brother and witnessed in graphic detail the unspeakable abuse of said brother, but Leta leaving him was possibly something that just might trump all of that. Or at least it would have been had Tina not been there for him every step of the way. Sweet, wonderful Tina. It was amazing how close they had grown in such a short space of time. In the space of the past six months since her sister’s wedding they had become increasingly dependent on one another, despite the distance and obvious difficulties involved. He was aware that some might call what he was doing selfish – he knew it was – but he couldn’t find it in himself to care that he was moving on so quickly when he felt happier with Tina than he had done in years.

He had loved Leta – still did in a distant, hurting way, but in contrast of Tina’s sweet, slightly bumbling, pretty nature he was starting to see flaws in his ex-fiancé that he had overlooked before in the face of Leta’s beauty and wit. She had been withdrawn, selfish and in all honesty not very subtle about the fact that she still loved Newt – Theseus had ignored it, hoping that over time, once they were married, then she might grow to love him just as much as she had Newt. In retrospect it had been a foolish hope – Newt was just capable of a sort of incompressiblely accepting love that he couldn’t top even with all the love he felt. Newt saw the flaws in people, accepted them and then just carried on loving them anyway – it was astounding and whilst Theseus was a caring man in his own way, he couldn’t ignore the flaws in their relationship now that he had the benefit of hindsight. She had not been kind in the way in which she had expressed her wish to sperate – there had been a lot of yelling, tears and attempts from him at calming her and her he, but in the end they had both agreed it was for the best. She wanted some space apart to sort through the issues and rumours surrounding her family and had encouraged him to just take care of his own family without her interference. He wasn’t entirely sure if that had been kindness on her part or if she had just been trying to break it off in an easier way than telling him the truth, but either way he still was glad beyond words that he hadn’t had to suffer alone after she left.   

He needn’t have been ashamed of his moving on however, as less than a month after Leta broke off the engagement, she was seen frequently in the company of Finnis Fawley – the son of the current Minister for Magic who had joined the Auror department earlier than year. He was of a pureblood family lineage to rival that of the Lestrange family though without the taint of corruption and scandal – he imagined that that sort of thing was becoming increasingly important to Leta. It helped to assuage Theseus’ guilt enough so that he felt more comfortable in his newfound relationship with Tina, at least in terms of what might be considered of them in professional circles anyway. As much as he tried not to mix his personal life and career, getting Leta involved in the Ministry family had retrospectively not been the best idea. Now he was forced to politely interact with both her and her new lover on a semi-regular basis as they were a part of his department. They were cordial enough but there was always still that painful, insidiously lingering tension of what had and what could have been between them.  

Theseus tried to maintain a proper manner, but it became increasingly difficult as Tina had made a petition to maintain an ambassadorial role within the MACUSA Auror department that took her back to London regularly. It was a great development for their relationship and for Tina so that she could see her sister and friends as often as she wanted – splitting her time between London and New York via an established Floo-connection. With Newt having insisted that he was ‘perfectly capable’ of living in his own home unsupervised, Tina had begun to spend more and more time in Theseus’ own home. It was nice having her around when he came home from a long day, being able to just find comfort in one another outside of their taxing careers. There had been passion between him and Leta but very little of the sweet, caring, domestic moments he shared with Tina. Not to say that there wasn’t sex – there definitely was and it was yet another reason why he was glad that his younger brother was out of his house. None of them had the social capability to be able to deal with _that_.

Newt seemed to be recovering better when closer to his creatures and in the comfort of his own home, but the added benefits of having Queenie and Jacob just down the street from him as well as the newly placed wards were what gave Theseus the confidence to allow Newt some independence. Though thinking about it, Theseus doubted there was much he could ever do to keep Newt from doing what he wanted if his junior sibling really had his heart set on it, and his creatures were definitely that. But so, unfortunately was Percival Graves. Theseus had assumed that when the Director returned to New York that it would have ended whatever was going on between them – unfortunately he was drastically mistaken in that hope. Just as Tina found the time to split her life between London and New York, Graves was also making frequent trips to visit Newt.

It had come as a nasty shock to discover that Newt had allowed the older wizard to set up a Floo-connection to his house so that he could visit whenever he wanted. The discovery had resulted in another shouting match between himself, Graves and even Newt when it had become too heated. Much to Theseus’ annoyance it had ended in a compromise of sorts in that the Floo-connection had to be allowed from Newt’s end by a specific spell and that it was only a one-way system. Graves had argued with him on that point, claiming that it could double as an escape route should Newt find himself attacked in his home again, but Theseus had insisted that it was a step too far. He hadn’t liked the idea of Newt being able to disappear off internationally at a moment’s notice and as he had the law backing him up on that matter Graves had conceded. For once, Theseus was grateful that the Ministry had implemented the ban on Newt travelling internationally – they had been suspicious enough when he had had to explain why Newt had been in Paris and Austria without permittance. That had taken a lot of smoothing over and Theseus had little difficulty pointing out the fact to his fellow Head of Magical Security as even though Graves seemed intent on pursuing Newt, he still respected his role as an upholder of order and justice. It was one of the few things that Theseus would admit to admiring in the man. _Very few_.                    

The elder Scamander could admit that his presence _did_ seem to be doing Newt good, as he had been cheerier and admittedly more confident seeming than he had been both before and after his incarceration. Queenie and Tina had even commented upon it at one point – claiming that Newt seemed to be ‘glowing’ – whatever that was meant to mean although even Theseus could admit that he had put back on a pleasing amount of weight and regained a little colour. Even if he still looked permanently exhausted. In the first few weeks after the incident with Grindelwald he had eaten very little and Theseus had become worried that he was trying to starve himself, though his main aversion seemed to be to anything with meat in it. He could certainly understand why after what that malicious, apparently cannibalistic bastard had forced upon Newt, but with Queenie and Jacob’s encouragement and proximity, they had gotten him to build up his appetite with various baked goods and homemade food. It had resulted in a fairly regular tradition of Newt and his friends sitting down to meals either in his own home or in the newly opened bakery. He had seen Graves encouraging him too, in between the soppy, awkward looks the two liked to exchange that Theseus felt were often timed just to irritate him.      

But what made Theseus continue to resent Graves’ presence in Newt’s life wasn’t just his concern about Newt’s reputation and how his liaisons might affect his blooming career as an author, but also because he couldn’t understand how Newt could get past what Grindelwald had done to him using Graves’ face. Theseus had been horrified enough at the dark wizard’s callousness just from viewing them as a third-party observer – he couldn’t imagine how Newt could possibly get past that association enough to become romantically involved with Graves. Because that was most definitely what they were. More than once, he had come over to visit only to find Newt and Graves leaping back awkwardly from one another. And of course, there had been that one _incredibly_ awkward instance where he had descended into the case to find his little brother with his legs wrapped around the American’s waist and pressed up against a bookshelf in the shed. There was no way he was going to forgot that one, no matter how much he tried. That _particular_ incident had resulted in a long, intensely explicative discussion between him and Graves over boundaries and how fucking insensitive the American was being. Graves had cut back with a forceful (and unfortunately fair) point that if they were going to start lecturing one another about their private lives than Graves could choose to bring up Theseus’ own romantic entanglements in a rather unfavourable light.

It had ended in a stalemate and Theseus had from then on, reserved his anger to silent, observant judgement. He watched Newt’s behaviour to check that he was not worsening or being too negatively affected by Graves’ presence, but he had gradually admitted to himself that Newt did _seem_ to be happier around Graves than away from him. He was getting on with his life just as Theseus had hoped he would – interacting well with his friends, creatures and even going out into public a few times with Tina, Queenie and Jacob. He was glad that Newt was socialising outside of just his new _companion_ and despite everything, the elder Scamander found himself relaxing slightly about his troubled little brother. There hadn’t been any sightings – reported or otherwise of Grindelwald since the incident involving Abernathy and the two slain fanatics. There were still issues with unrest caused by his followers of course, but it mostly seemed to be isolated to America and mainland Europe rather than Britain and if Theseus hadn’t known better, he could have sworn it was almost as if they had been ordered to _stay away_ from England. Even casual crime seemed to have been limited over the past six months and it was making both Theseus and Graves suspicious of the sudden lack of activity. His optimistic side tried to pass it off as Grindelwald’s fanatics packing it in after realising that their dark lord had been vanquished but there was still niggling doubt that this peace was only a precursor to something much worse. War was still a very real possibility with both the wizarding and Muggle communities seeming to be constantly on a knife’s edge.     

And then there had been the business with Credence Barebone. Whilst in New York, Tina had been using her newfound influence first as Assistant Director and then in her combined ambassadorial position to argue strongly in favour of the Obscurial being allowed the chance at a life within the magical community as well as an education to help teach him how to control his powers. Another reason why Theseus admired his fiercely willed girlfriend was because of her nurturing yet tenacious spirit. Over the past month especially she had succeeded in winning members of MACUSA over to letting the boy live and gaining his freedom, he had been in the specially designed cell twice whilst Tina had gone in to comfort and update Credence on how his case was going and had been touched by how caring she was with him. Theseus recognised the look of an abused boy who had suffered from an abundance of misunderstanding even if he worried for Tina’s safety at being so close to such a volatile force.

He had been surprised to learn that there had only been one incident over the months since his imprisonment and that had only been a small one in which Credence had reverted to his destructive form when he was informed that his Maledictus friend from the Circus Arcanus had still not been found. Tina had managed to calm him back into his human form and he had been impressed by how firmly, caringly and patiently she had handled the situation – speaking softly and earnestly to Credence and coaxing him into stillness. Just over a week ago Tina had received letters in the post from both Hogwarts and Ilvermorny telling her that Credence could not be accepted for study as he was a grave risk to any around him. She had ranted, marching about the house for quite a while until Theseus had managed to calm her down and she had relented – realising that the schools were only trying to protect their students by denying Credence’s entry. It hadn’t stopped her from seeking out private tutors from all over the globe in an attempt to find one that would take on an Obscurial as a pupil – so far with no success. She had asked Theseus whether Dumbledore would be willing to tutor Credence, but the elder Scamander had not encouraged the idea. He was still resenting of the teacher for his part in what had happened to Newt – what he had discovered in Newt’s memories, what Grindelwald had said about him, Dumbledore’s recklessness in taking Newt out of hospital and also because he was still a bit ashamed of his violent reaction the last time he saw the wizard.

Though Theseus still felt that he had deserved it, he regretted his loss of control concerning his temper – he really did struggle against his more volatile nature, but recent events had made it increasingly difficult to do so. It was a miracle that he hadn’t broken Graves’ nose too by this point, but in all honesty, he could just call that miracle Tina – she had had an amazing effect on his anger issues such as he had not experienced before with anyone. She was just such a nurturing, caring and adorable individual that she just made everyone around her better – including Theseus. It was probably why Newt had been drawn to her in the first place. The magizoologist had a similar effect on others but arguably to a much more dramatic extent – instead of just making people feel better he seemed to encourage them to _want_ to be better. It was bizarre in the extreme to witness, especially with someone as notoriously stern and career driven as Percival Graves.      

Three days ago, Theseus had relented to Tina’s questioning and sent a tentative, thoroughly formal inquiry concerning Credence’s potential tutorage to Dumbledore – he had agreed because he knew that out of all people, the teacher was the most likely to agree. After all, he didn’t seem to have an issue getting involved in the life of a vulnerable young man and had the expertise to back it up as well as having a personal interest in the boy’s future. They were still awaiting a reply and Theseus had become more preoccupied by the fact that a new issue had come to light concerning his younger brother that pushed the Credence matter to the back of his mind. Due to the astonishing success of his book ‘Fantastic Beasts and where to find them’ Newt’s publisher had requested him repeatedly to attend a book signing at Flourish and Blott’s and up until now the young magizoologist had refused to attend.

Both Theseus and Graves had expressed apprehension on the matter as it would be a perfect opportunity for someone to launch another attack on Newt. However, Newt had seemed bizarrely confident that he would no longer be a target for Grindelwald’s followers – insisting in an albeit evasive manner that the attack on him back in March had been a one-off and that it wouldn’t happen again. Both Heads of Magical Security had agreed not to inform Newt what had happened to the Scadrian Bane and Liza Barnasity as they thought it would just frighten him and detriment the progress he had seemed to be making. Neither had wanted Newt to decline back into his volatile, fragile state and despite Newt’s odd behaviour they had taken it as progress.

That was at least, until now – when Newt had finally agreed to attending a book signing. He had claimed that he was as safe as he was likely ever going to be and that he would exercise reasonable precautions to ensure his own safety but neither man had believed it for one second. Bright as Newt undoubtedly was, he was also capable of being a massive idiot at times and despite however much the two professionals had told him to avoid such a public target position, he had insisted to do it anyway. So that was why Theseus Scamander and Percival Graves were currently stood – incredibly begrudgingly he might add – next to one another in the back of Flourish and Blott’s keeping a close eye on anyone and everything that came near the signing table. If anyone thought it was odd that two internationally renowned Magical Security Directors were spending their Saturday afternoon in the middle of August overlooking a book-signing, then none were brave enough to comment upon it. 

As it was, the signing had gone smoothly thus far, pleasingly eager young witches and wizards as well as countless adult fans of Newt’s work filling the shop and making the younger Scamander flush an almost constant shade of pink at the praise levelled his way. He was glad that Newt’s work was being appreciated and had found himself enjoying the book even if it had been not quite along the line of how he would have usually described most of the creatures. Though he was pleased that Newt had included the Ministry classifications in his summarisations of the beasts as it allowed him more credibility than if he had simply rambled on about creatures in the admiring way he usually did. Theseus could admit that he and Graves had found a common ground in their concern for Newt and they had even shared an odd, awkwardly amused moment about an hour prior in which an overenthusiastic witch had leapt forward to grab at Newt’s hand in an almost aggressive handshake. She had gripped Newt’s scarred left hand in both of hers and both Aurors had responded almost immediately by whipping out their wands and demanding the woman step back. She had been shocked and awfully apologetic until Theseus had realised she was no danger and simply a bit clumsy in her fanaticism – Newt had apologised profusely to her, signed her book and levelled a reproachful look at both men behind him. After that, he had asked that they relax a bit and move a bit further away as they were scaring people unnecessarily.

“You and I are long overdue a little chat I think.” Graves’ purposefully low voice sounded from his left-hand side as they continued to observe the crowded shop before them from their position by a bookshelf several feet away from the table that had been set up for Newt to sign books at. Theseus didn’t turn to look at the man, still scanning the crowd but nodded tersely and saw out of the corner of his eye that the American noticed his non-verbal response, cast a non-verbal privacy charm and sighed before speaking. “About Newt. What happened to him.”

“I would have thought that if Newt wanted you to know about it, he would have told you by now what with you two getting so close and all.” Theseus replied stiffly, restraining his frustration and distaste for the other man to forced formality as he had done over the past few months. He heard Graves sigh again but this time in a tired, exasperated manner rather than in preparation for conflict.

“I… have asked Newt about it and he has told me a little more each time but there’s clearly still something he’s not telling me.” He spoke the next part with imploring, quiet frustration that had Theseus turn his attention towards Graves further, noting that his eyes were clouded and concerned. “I wouldn’t ask you if I saw another way, Scamander, but I know there is something bothering him that he won’t admit because he’s worried he’ll upset me. I was hoping your experience of his memories could give me insight as to how to make this easier for him. I’m not asking for you to support our… relationship but I want you to know that as long as Newt still wants me around, I’ll be there for him and if there is anything you can tell me that could help me to help him I would… appreciate it.”      

This affection piqued his interest and he felt a little of his distaste rub away at the genuine concern he witnessed – the man seemed to really care about Newt’s wellbeing in his own way. Enough so that he was willing to set aside the animosity between them to swallow his pride and ask Theseus for help. A part of Theseus bristled at being asked for advice on how to get closer to his brother but at the same time, it had become clear to him by now that Graves was likely going to stick around whether he approved of it or not. In fact, Theseus had the niggling feeling that his disapproval would probably have the exact opposite effect he intended, knowing Newt as he did – he never had been a follower or rules or social ques. So, he swallowed down his own animosity and glanced sideways at Graves, who was too splitting his attention between the conversation and keeping an eye on Newt.

There was silence between them for long enough a time for Theseus to consider not actually answering but then he caught another glimpse of despair in Graves’ dark eyes enough so that it shook him. “Whatever my opinions of you may be, I can see that you seem to be making Newt happy; that he is coping better when you’re around despite what your damned face has done to him. And if Newt is willing to overlook that, I think I can find it in myself to do the same, for his sake if nothing else.”

He paused, releasing a distressed breath through gritted teeth – this was more difficult than he had expected it to be. He could feel Graves’ expectant, rapt eyes on him even as he stared forwards. “Grindelwald dug around in his mind, pulling out anything and everything he could use to humiliate and manipulate him into submission so he could… so he could rape him. He pinned him down and defiled him and only stopped because we arrived ahead of the bastard’s schedule. He used your face and voice...Dumbledore's too but...he seemed more inclined towards yours as he'd probably had more practice with it I suppose." He swallowed slightly before continuing. "I think Grindelwald knew that Newt would have more trouble fighting him if he saw the faces of people he...cared for...that he would submit... but he didn't; he kept on fighting and only got hurt worse because of it..."

The words came out as strained, hoarse, revolted, furious whispers but he kept his eyes wide and dry as he gazed ahead, not really seeing the crowd anymore, but the horrible images of what Grindelwald had tried to do whilst wearing the same face of a man that was currently standing beside him. How Newt managed to overlook that, he had no idea, but what he had said was true – if his traumatised younger brother could work past the issue than Theseus was not going to let his concern get in the way of Newt finding happiness if he could.    

He saw Graves nod softly, sadly in the edge of his vision, as if he had expected as much but he still looked infinitely troubled. After several more tensely silent moments he ventured in a low, hesitant, slightly shaking voice that clued even Theseus in on the true extent of how much the violation bothered him. The British Auror found himself minorly gratified that the man was capable of such a level of compassion and wasn’t just completely clueless or manipulative of his effect on Newt. “He did mention-… I mean, he did imply as much, but is there anything else that he might’ve mentioned that could explain…” He trailed off and Theseus’ frown deepened, tearing his fixed gaze away from the crowd to glare at Graves for his vagueness.

“Explain what?”

Graves hesitated but then admitted softly “He’s been sleeping badly, that much is obvious to anyone with eyes, but its more than that. I’ve come into his shed a few times to find him passed out on his cot from exhaustion and he won’t wake however much I shake him or call his name… it’s like he’s all but dead to the world and sometimes I could swear he doesn’t even seem to actually be there at all. It's almost like my hand goes through him...” 

Theseus’ brows furrowed further, he had himself found Newt passed out on the sofa back when his brother had been living with him still and sometimes seen almost a shimmer like effect on his skin, as if he wasn’t entirely there, but whenever he had then touched Newt’s arm to wake him the feeling had disappeared and Newt usually woke straight away. It was disturbing to hear that the issue had been experienced by another and apparently… developed. “He doesn’t wake up?”

Graves shook his head lightly, eying the back of Newt’s coppery curl-covered head from across the space between them, looking concerned but also guarded. “No, he wakes in the morning fine it seems, but if I try to wake him it doesn’t seem to make any difference. I tried casting Rennervate before and diagnostic spells, but everything seemed completely normal. I’ve heard of sleeping disorders caused by trauma before but I’m not sure if its so simple an issue. I was wondering if you had any better idea as to what the deal with the mark on his arm is and if that had something to do with it. Some sort of lingering dark magic perhaps? The healers had no idea what it was or how to get rid of it – not even _Dumbledore_ could fix it.”

Theseus tilted his head in consideration, brows creased as he too regarded Newt who was oblivious to their conversation as he signed books, made awkward small-talk with fans and offered advice on magical creature problems that were presented to him by some. He _did_ look tired as he usually did, but the news Graves was presenting him with cast the dark circles and slight pallor into a new, more worrying light. He muttered back his response in grim tones. “He hasn’t mentioned anything to me about it – not like I haven’t asked – but I think you may have a point about the scars. Dumbledore pulled me out of the memories before they were made, and I got the feeling at the time that there was something he didn’t want me to know. I suspect they have something to do with the damned blood-oath, but I don’t know. Perhaps it’s a backlash of some sort? Its not uncommon for powerful magic to leave traces or scars. Though how that would be affecting his sleep, I don’t know.”

“He won’t talk to me about it. just changes the subject or tries to distract me whenever I bring it up. I had been hoping you might’ve known something more because of the Pensieve but… apparently not.” He paused, side glancing back at Theseus briefly. “Do you think he would tell you if you asked?”

Theseus snorted out a derisive laugh and shook his head softly, if a bit sadly. “You clearly don’t know my brother at all if you think Newt is any more likely to tell me than you. Newt always has had a knack for evasion and as you’re probably aware, we don’t exactly always get along all that well.”

Graves snorted too and directed a goading smirk at the other Auror “Oh really, I hadn’t noticed. You’re such a charming and welcoming individual I expected everyone to just fall at your feet in awe.”       

Theseus glared but couldn’t help but feel a flicker of amusement underneath even if he would never admit it “We can’t all be serial skirt-chasers Graves, oh sorry- ass-chasers.”

To his annoyance, Graves merely let out a hearty laugh and replied smugly “Actually Scamander, I think you’ll find that I’m both. Not all of us have to limit ourselves to just one.”  

“You know Graves, a lesser man might accuse you of being a vulgar man-whore.”

“But of course, you’re above all that aren’t you?” he commented dryly, arching a sardonic black brow at him in an amused manner.   

“I like to think so, yes.” Theseus replied shortly.           

“Good to know.”

Both avoided looking back at one another for fear of cracking under the temptation to dissolve the animosity and tension between them by laughing. Theseus may be warming a little to the man because of his genuine care for Newt and his professional integrity but that didn’t mean he had to like the man. Theseus refocussed his attention solely upon Newt to see him conversing with a young man with purposefully windswept blonde hair and a thickly accented voice that carried across the shop to where they stood as he laughed loudly. Both he and Graves edged forwards as the man slapped a hand on Newt’s shoulder and though he could see his brother didn’t look concerned he didn’t exactly look entirely comfortable either. He quickly realised why as he could see that the blonde hair, physical contact and strong German accent were triggering unpleasant memories for the magizoologist. The wizard was clearly a newcomer as he was speaking in very fractured English interspersed liberally with long strings of Germanic words that left his meaning difficult for even Theseus to understand. He spoke a little German and French from his time both in the war and as an Auror as international diplomacy was often required when being the Head of Magical Security. It seemed that the man was merely asking Newt on his opinions on how to efficiently deal with a persistent Horklump infestation but was inadvertently reminding Newt of things that were best left forgotten if the tension in Newt’s pen hand and the sudden haziness in his blue eyes was anything to go by.

Graves had reached forwards a hand to firmly remove the one on Newt’s shoulder and though the man tensed slightly he allowed it to happen, withdrawing it and looking a bit confused. He offered a string of multilingual apologies that Theseus winced at, expecting Newt to react badly as it reminded him of the mix of German and English that Grindelwald had released when Newt had hexed his face. However, the actual reaction surprised everyone present including Newt himself if the look on his face was anything to go by. “Es ist in Ordnung, verzeihen Sie meinen Begleiter. Danke, dass du mein Buch gelesen hast.“

The blonde man looked taken aback but muttered a quick, bemused reply and left with his book clutched tight to his chest. Theseus and Graves both leaned down at the same time, one on either side of the magizoologist and the elder Scamander muttered in a baffled tone. “What the hell was that about?”    

“A fan, I think? Seemed nice enough though.” Newt replied a bit hazily, looking confused at Theseus’ harsh tone and both men’s concern. He heard Graves sigh exasperatedly and Newt turned towards him for explanation

“I don’t think he meant that. I think he was referring to how you are suddenly able to speak what sounded like fairly fluent German.”

Newt looked even more baffled for a moment and stared from one to the other as if they had gone mad before a flash of realization flickered across his expression so quickly that Theseus was almost unsure he’d even seen it. Newt laughed nervously, clearly trying to play it off and that only served to make him even more suspicious as he answered. “Oh, it’s not all that sudden, I learnt some in my travels and decided to touch up on it recently after the whole debacle at the clinic in Austria. I was getting a bit tired of not knowing what he- I mean anyone was saying.” He offered an unconvincing grin that clearly fooled no one as Theseus and Graves exchanged a dubious look over Newt’s ducked head. His brother seemed to realise that neither had believed him as he tagged on a bit lamely. “I guess I just didn’t realise how much I’d remembered till just now.”

Graves rolled his eyes and Theseus couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment but decided not to bring it up right now in a room full of clamouring fans and Hogwarts students. He instead repressed his reaction to muttering. “Of course, must be it.”

“You alright though?” Graves murmured in a lower voice and Newt nodded, still looking slightly confused but smiling awkwardly through it in such a way that both men knew he wasn’t going to elaborate, at least not whilst in public anyway, so stood back to their previous positions.

“Has he always been such a bad liar?” Graves murmured through slightly gritted teeth as he clasped his hands in front of him in a seemingly controlling gesture and Theseus snorted again, nodding.

“You have no idea.”

“And is there any chance whatsoever that he’s going to tell either of us voluntarily what that was about?”

“Not likely.”

There was silence for a few blessed minutes before Graves asked, seemingly unable to keep the temptation to goad him down now that they had begun ‘opening up to one another’ as Tina would’ve likely put it. “So, you and Tina?”

Theseus huffed out an extremely irritated breath “What about it?”

“Just observing a pattern here, Scamander.”

“Don’t bother Graves, not interested in playing your games.”

Graves huffed a laugh and sent a sideways smirk “What makes you think I’m not being entirely serious here? I’d like to know if I’m next on some sort of Scamander brothers’ checklist.”

Theseus turned furiously to face him and spat out “Don’t flatter yourself Graves, you don’t hold a candle to either Leta or Tina and in all honesty, I don’t understand what Newt see’s in you.”

“Well that’s probably because you haven’t kissed me.”

Theseus felt a vein throbbing in his forehead as he repressed the urge to hex the smarmy bastard right into the nearby stacks of Newt’s book. He tried to focus on the anger management techniques that he and Tina had been working on and instead replied as evenly as he could. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring up my romantic history or your relationships with my brother, Graves.”

He nodded, ducking his head and letting the taunting smirk turn slip into something more humble and genuine seeming though his eyes turned hard. “My apologies, Scamander. I find it difficult to back down from a challenge - especially when said challenge happens to be accusing me of manipulating the man I care very much about and deliberately causing him pain for my own gain.”

“I am only looking out for him. I’m sure you can understand wanting to protect what little family you have left.” His tone was biting.

“Yes, yes actually I do. I may not have any younger siblings, but I do understand the value of family which is one of the few reasons I haven’t put you on your ass for some of the comments you’ve made concerning my _honour_.”

Theseus huffed out a laugh and a smirk of his own “Like you could.”

“You don’t think so?”

“You MACUSA lot are all flash and no sense, its probably why you ended up being replaced by fascist madman for months without anyone noticing a difference.”

He seemed to have crossed a line here as Graves’ expression turned dark and his smirk dropped, hands clenching on his forearms noticeably. “I didn’t see you Brits stepping in to be of any use when we captured him the first time around.”

“Oh, you mean the time he escaped and made fools out of all of you?”

“Still more than you ever managed to do.”

“But then again, you weren’t even around when they captured Grindelwald were you, Graves? No, if I remember correctly, we found you tucked away in some Merlin-forsaken hole in the subway system. However did that happen I wonder?”

The moment he said it, Theseus knew he’d gone too far as Graves’ hand twitched to his wand, a hard, old-hurt gleam present in his eyes that made the British Auror reach for his own wand a half-second behind. In the next moment both had the other’s wands pointed at one another’s throats, there was a stalemate of tense, furious eyes but neither was willing to actually act upon their anger in the middle of a crowded bookshop. It was only the notice-me-not charm that they had placed upon themselves at the start of the signing that stopped anyone from noticing the standoff now – the original purpose having been to give them an element of surprise should any of Grindelwald’s supporters show up uninvited.

“You go too far, Scamander, this pissing match between us has to end.” Graves forced out through gritted teeth. “The only thing this’ll result in is one or both of us in hospital and Newt likely setting his creatures on us for good measure.”

“I must say that as someone with experience in the matter, I’m not too keen on the latter.” Theseus commented in a purposefully light tone but his eyes conveying his seriousness even if he wasn’t fond of the idea of agreeing so readily with the cocky American.

“I’ll agree not to bring up your shortcomings if you don’t continue to be quite so damning of my relationship with Newt. I promise you that if I ever do anything to hurt him, I’ll be the first to remove myself from his life, so you needn’t worry on that front.”

Theseus regarded him in a gauging manner for several moments before nodding, lowering his wand at the same time Graves did and offering a hand which the American took, shook once stiffly and then released. “Very well, but if you do anything _I_ feel is hurting Newt, you won’t get the chance to remove yourself from his life before I end yours. Just so that we understand one another.”      

Graves’ dark eyes were satisfyingly serious as he nodded. “Understood, Scamander.”    

There was another pause before Graves commented in a much lighter, clearly prompting tone “I was impressed with how you handled yourself duelling as well as in Abernathy’s interrogation. You’re more competent than I have you credit for.”      

Theseus huffed a breath and allowed a thin, forced smile to cross his lips “Likewise.”

“Have you heard about the trouble they’re having in Switzerland with the pureblood families rebelling against the Ministry?”

“Of course, but it seems to be the only upheaval outside of America that has been occurring over the past six months. Have you not found it suspicious that it all seemed to stop after the message that was left in March?”

Graves grimaced and Theseus gathered that the other Head Auror knew exactly what he was talking about. “You mean almost as if Grindelwald were still just as in control as ever? Then yes, of course I have. It’s fairly obvious that imprisoned or not, _someone_ out there is definitely giving orders that are following Grindelwald’s design. Have you heard anything from Dumbledore about it?”

“No,” Theseus admitted, rubbing the back of his neck lightly with one hand “I sent a letter a few days ago concerning the Obscurial boy and his tutorage – Tina’s idea – but haven’t heard back from him yet. I did request regular reports on Grindelwald’s status, but of course the stubborn bugger hasn’t done any such thing. Him and the Ministry don’t really get along even if he is a part of the Wizengamot – almost as charismatic as his nutter ex, but not seeming all that interested in getting involved in any organised attempts to keep an eye on the ‘Greater Good’ situation. I have a suspicion that he’s been going rogue on it but no one has been able to catch him in the act yet.”

Graves frowned even as he huffed out a slightly amused breath. “As much as I don’t usually encourage vigilantism, I have to admit that if anyone is capable of containing Grindelwald then it’s probably him, even if I’m not entirely sure he wants to.”  

“What do you mean?”         

“It’s not easy for that kind of feeling to just go away, and as much as I like to trust Newt’s instincts, I’m not sure he sees everything that goes on between those two and that might be clouding his judgement on how safe he really is from Grindelwald.” **(Oh Graves you silly bean)** “Whenever I ask him if he feels safe he gets weirdly sure of himself and tells me he knows Grindelwald is still imprisoned. I’m guessing that he’s in contact with Dumbledore and that he is reassuring him about-”

“No, he isn’t.” Theseus cut across before Graves could finish and the man looked at him sideways. Sighing, Theseus admitted. “After what happened with Tina and that bloody Dragon Venom, I’ve been keeping a ward on any post that comes in to my or Newt’s houses.”

Graves regarded him for a few seconds with a dubious expression on his face before he shook his head. “I would call you paranoid but honestly at this point I think your family seems to attract trouble like dirt attracts Bundimuns.”

“You have no idea, Graves.” Theseus muttered, thinking of not only himself and Newt but of his mother’s unfortunate passing and then the literal butchery that had happened to his father. “Anyway, yeah, I don’t know any better than you do on that front, but all we can really do for now is wait until whatever Grindelwald is planning happens and do whatever we can to limit the damage up until then.”

“My thoughts more or less.”

“I feel like as Directors of Magical Security for two of the most influential countries on the globe you should really have better plans than that.”

Both started and turned to face Tina who was standing leant against a nearby bookshelf looking mildly amused but still motivated as ever. Theseus laughed a little and grabbed her hand, pulling her in for a brief, sweet kiss and brushing her fringe out of her pretty brown eyes with a lingering gesture. No matter how many times he did it, he was always glad to see her and always felt the need to show her just how much he missed her. It was soppy perhaps and probably not appropriate for two professionals, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. She looked up at him shyly through her long lashes at him and he smiled fondly down at her, rubbing a hand softly over her blushing cheek before withdrawing and turning his attention back to Graves who was clearing his throat pointedly. Tina flushed bright pink and bobbed her head awkwardly in her boss’ direction.

“Mr Graves, sir.”

“For the last time, if I’ve known you for over eight years, attended your sister’s wedding and you’re dating the brother of the man I’m involved with I think you can muster up the courage to call me by my first name.”

“Oh, uh, yeah sorry Percival.”

“What’re you doing here anyway? I thought you were in New York until tomorrow night.”

“Well yeah, I was meant to be, but then I heard about the creature and dark magical activities over here and thought I’d come to help, figured I’d find you lot here so came to ask for Newt’s advice on how to deal with it.”

“Creatures? What dark magical activities? I would have been informed if there had been any attacks or developments nearby.” Theseus cut in, confused.

Tina frowned at him “I was sent a message from your Ministry saying there had been sightings of the escaped creatures from Circus Arcanus in London along with Grindelwald’s supporters – it said you needed my help with rounding them up. I was a bit surprised you’d not mention it yourself but figured you’d be busy.”   

“Tina, I didn’t send any message and I didn’t authorise anyone to send for you either. I don’t know anything about sightings.”

“What? Then how-?”

“I have no idea, but I get the feeling that I don’t want to stick around here to find out. We need to leave. Now.” Graves cut across and began looking around for Newt and Theseus joined his search only to curse as he realised that in the three minutes he’d not watched his little brother like a hawk the idiot had disappeared.    

“Damn it.” he cursed under his breath, grabbing Tina’s hand and glancing around to Graves before leading the way towards where the bookshop owner stood near the front window. Before the cheery looking brunette wizard in yellow robes could open his mouth to offer the equally inappropriately cheerful greeting Theseus was fixing him with a fierce stare and demanding. “Where did Newt go?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, I thought he was using the facilities in the back.” He responded puzzledly. “Is he coming back? I don’t want to lose customers from him ditching the signing before its over. Bad for business you know.”        

Theseus growled under his breath and replied fiercely “I think you’ll lose more business if your bestselling author turns up dead near your shop, now where is he?”

The man looked terrified at the insinuation and sputtered for a few moments before pointing at the shop door. “I think I saw him leave a few minutes ago but I don’t know where from there because he apparated soon after.”

“Bloody hell, Newt.” Theseus muttered and glanced about at the milling young witches and wizards before turning back to the yellow-robed owner with a grave expression “I don’t care how you do it, but I would advise getting everyone out of here for their safety. Don’t ask why. Just do it unless you want a fight on your hands. Ministry authority. Do it now.” The last part was barked out and the man instantly got to work, calling out in a forcibly calm tone that the signing was over and that they were closing early for unavoidable ‘unexpected maintenance issues.’ He was minorly impressed with the man’s ingenuity but didn’t stop to ponder it as he withdrew his wand, hurrying out into the street and balancing it in his palm and intoned “ _Invenient Eum!_ ”

“What are you doing, Scamander?” Graves’ harsh tones broke him from his preoccupation and he briefly sent the wizard a glare before looking back down to where his wand had begun to spin in circles in his flat palm. When it stopped, pointing north up the street, Theseus began to follow its direction, adjusting his course as it did.  He heard Tina and Graves following closely behind him and heard Tina’s voice repeat the question, this time he relented and replied without stopping his brisk pace, following the twists and turns of Diagon Alley and into Knockturn Alley. “I’m tracing Newt.”

“How?” Graves asked tersely and Theseus sighed, not having wanted to admit what he had done as it technically wasn’t even legal but sensing that the wizard wasn’t likely to give up until he answered.

“I placed an altered version of the trace on him, after all that’s happened it seemed like the best way to keep him safe.”

There was silence from behind him and Theseus didn’t need to turn to know the sorts of looks he would be getting from either of them. He couldn’t bring himself to care much though – he was willing to do anything he could to keep the last surviving member of his family from further harm. The darker area of the magical shopping centre of London was shady as ever and he was shot mistrustful looks from the few people who frequented the street, most of them disappearing into nearby shops or hastening their steps. Trust it to be the dodgy characters who actually had some sort of sense of self-perseveration. His wand spun again, leading him down another series of twisting side-alleys, hearing loud crashes and shouts nearby getting closer before they reached a wider, open cobbled courtyard on the outside of what looked to be a grimy bar.

A gigantic, elephant-sized cat-like creature stood before them, huge multicoloured tail whipping from side to side in clear agitation, sending chunks of broken building flying as a group of men approached it with wands out and clearly ready to attack. Of course, that was precisely where they found Newt, standing right in front of the agitated beast, angled sideways, splitting his attention between the advancing wizards and the tusked, striped feline. Knowing Newt as he did, Theseus didn’t make the mistake of thinking that Newt was trapped between two dangers but instead realised that his brother was defending the beast from the wizards. He didn’t hesitate in sending a barrage of stunners at the attackers, some being struck down before the rest of the group turned to engage the newcomers.

As Theseus, Graves and Tina joined the fray, deflecting and stunning left, right and centre, he could see Newt continuing to calm the creature, clearly trying to limit the damage it was inflicting on its surroundings as the spellfire began to disturb it. He was clearly succeeding as it batted away one of the wizards who attempted to attack Newt from behind and wrapped it’s huge plumed tail around him almost protectively. Newt proceeded to release it from its magical bindings, the creature letting out an ear-splitting roar as it stretched its emaciated looking, scarred limbs and nudged Newt affectionately. Theseus hastily ducked an unforgiveable curse and directed his full attention back to the slew of attackers, picking them off in tandem with the other two Aurors’ movements. He saw Newt join the fray at some point, downing several of the wizards with binding spells, freezing charms and stunners of his own as well as some odd random flashes of silver magic that he barely noticed in the din and flashes of spellfire. Theseus found himself relaxing into the familiar duelling motions without too much fear of his brother getting hurt. Newt was clearly holding his own with the aid of his new furry friend flicking attackers away if they got too close, it was over more quickly than Theseus would’ve expected, the wizards – likely poachers - lying incapacitated around them.

The moment he was able to safely focus his full attention back on the beast, Newt of course did so, laughing a bit as it nuzzled him, wrapping its tail around him again pulling him close to its side and eying the three Aurors with wary, huge amber eyes. Theseus regarded it from a distance, trusting Newt’s skill with creatures but still wary of how the dangerous beast was still acting like it was ready to attack at any moment. He kept his wand raised, as did Graves and Tina who stood nearby with similar postures of caution as they watched Newt.

“I see you’ve made a new friend.” Graves commented lightly, sounding amused though still bewildered and Newt laughed, nodding as the feline continued to rub its face into his shoulder and nearly knocking him off his feet, but instead scooped him up on its tusks so that Newt was perched awkwardly upon them, hovering above the ground and bobbing with each movement of its massive head.

“It’s the Zouwu from the Circus Arcanus, I heard that he was being pursued across the length and breadth of France until he ended up around here. They’re capable of travelling very large distances with great ease. Not sure why it came north instead of returning to China, but I think it was just trying to get away from the poachers.” Newt commented, glancing about at the unconscious and frozen men with a familiar look of righteous ferocity on account of the harmed creature.

“How did you find out about it?” Theseus asked and Newt paused before he answered

“People often come to me about creature problems or sightings and Zouwu aren’t known for being especially subtle even if they are very fast, so when a lady came into the shop talking about disturbances and a huge creature causing problems nearby, I got the feeling I knew exactly what it was.”

Theseus huffed out a dubious, irritated breath and shook his head, taking a step toward Newt and the Zouwu, though pausing as the latter tensed visibly. “So, you _just happened_ to hear from a _complete stranger_ who walked into Flourish and Blott’s about the exact creature you’ve been worried about _for months_ and thought you’d just head off without telling anyone where you were going or why?”

Newt paused, ducking his head slightly as he swayed on the Zouwu’s tusks as it bobbed its own head, looking from one human to the next in an assessing manner. “Well I suppose it does sound a bit silly when you put it that way.” Newt admitted before aiming a challenging look back at him “But you wouldn’t’ve exactly let me go if I told you, would you? I didn’t want to risk the Zouwu being hurt again while you lot were trying to ‘keep me safe’” He glanced over at Tina for the first time and offered her a brief smile “Oh, hi Tina, didn’t know you were back in London.”

She released a disbelieving laugh as she watched Newt dip down to place his feet back on the ground and pat the Zouwu on the head before stepping over to the nearest wall where his case stood propped up against it. “Nice to see you too, Newt, but I’m only here because of the disturbance that this Zou-thing was causing, and the Ministry sent me to check it out.”      

Newt frowned “The Zouwu didn’t mean to do anything wrong – they’re just kind of like big kittens but most people are put off by their size.”

“And the foot-long tusks.” Graves commented dryly and Newt laughed nervously, ducking his head again and running a hand over one of them in a slightly reverent manner, looking distracted and fascinated.  

“I suppose those might have something to do with it too.”

“But what about this lot?” Tina asked, gesturing about at the dozen or so incapacitated wizards around them. “I was told to expect Grindelwald followers. Are you sure they were just poachers, Newt?”   

He tilted his head as if thinking before shaking it slightly, eyes not leaving the Zouwu’s face as he spoke softly “I don’t really know, but they seemed to only be interested in catching him, if they were Grindelwald’s I think they probably might’ve been a bit more cautious in their approach.”

Graves’ brows rose and creased “It’s true that there hasn’t been much activity over here from the movement, this may well have just been run of the mill poaching.”

“Well, what’s important is that Henry is safe now and with a bit of feeding and some Dittany I should be able to heal up those scars.” He commented, running a hand mournfully inches from the chain and lash marks on the creature’s furry hide, not quite touching them but his other hand seemed to go unconsciously to his own chest through his coat. Where his own scars resided no doubt, Theseus winced at the memory before the realisation of what Newt had just said left him amused.

All three Aurors released incredulous snorts of laughter at the ridiculous name he had chosen quite so quickly for the enormous, dangerous magical beast. Graves shook his head and stepped forward to sling an affectionate arm around Newt’s shoulders, grinning as he flushed and said, “I guess there’s no chance you’re going to change your mind about keeping this one just to make our jobs easier, is there?”     

“To be fair, I don’t think there are currently any laws on them in England or America because they aren’t native and were considered all but extinct.”

All the Aurors shared another exasperated look but didn’t bother to point out the flimsiness of the loophole as they knew it wouldn’t stop Newt from keeping the overgrown, apparently affectionate feline even if they did. Seeming to sense their acquiescence, Newt swiftly flicked open the latches of his case, reaching in with his left arm and wandlessly summoning an odd-looking fluffy stick thing into his outstretched hand. He proceeded to gain the Zouwu’s attention with the ringing of a little bell in the toy and waited until it’s huge amber eyes were completely fixated before dropping it in his case, stepping back to allow the creature to swiftly descend after the toy. He swiftly jumped in after, popping his head out just long enough to request that they close the case behind him before disappearing, leaving three bemused and exasperated Aurors in his wake.

Theseus watched as Graves cautiously approached the case, clicking the locks shut and hefting it in one hand before he turned back to the others. “I’m going to take him back to his house and make sure he doesn’t get eaten by ‘ _Henry’_ before the day is out, if that’s alright with you, Scamander.” It wasn’t really phrased as a question, but Theseus nodded begrudgingly as Graves nodded to him and Tina in turn. “Have a pleasant evening.” Winked and then disapparated.

Theseus shook his head yet again, glancing about at all the unconscious and injured wizards still strewn about the place, before back to Tina with a wry smile. “I suppose this isn’t exactly what either of us had planned for the next time we saw each other, but we should probably get this lot to the holding cells before they wake up.” He flashed her a wink of his own that left her blushing and giggly as he added. “We can get back to the fun stuff later on.”

Tina laughed a bit giddily, nodded and got to work.       

 **A/N - I know, I know and I’m sorry for the sudden time jump but it was necessary for both relationship building, Newt’s recovery, plot, the book-signing and other reasons which shall hopefully become apparent later. Enjoy?**                                         


	15. Chapter 15

**“You're a tough little tadpole to love, naughty lilies and lures, oh, I was knocked to the floor, never tasted as sweet a poison as you have, you're an urge that can never be cured, you're a bad little love and I'm yours.**

**So, trust me, trust me, darling dear, I'm so sincere, there's no need to tear, trust me, trust me, honey, do, just like I trust you.**

**...you're a hard game to catch, you fight and refuse, oh, you're a wild little bruise, never tasted as sweet a poison as you have, you know you never can hide, you're a bad little love and you're mine.** **” – ‘The Tale of the Scorpion and the Frog’ – The Devil’s Carnival**

 **“** **Half accidental, half pain full instrumental, I have a lot to think about. You think they're joking? You have to go provoke him...I guess it's high time you found out...**

 **…** **Two halves are equal, a cross between two evils, it’s not an enviable lot, but if you listen, you'll learn to hear the difference, between the halfs and the half nots.**

**And when I let him in, I feel the stitches getting sicker, I try to wash him out but like they say, the blood is thicker…I run as fast as I can run, but Jack comes tumbling after.**

**And when I'm brave enough and find a clever way to kick him out...**

**I'm halfway home now, half hoping for a showdown...It might destroy me, but I'd sacrifice my body if it meant I'd get the Jack part out!** **” – ‘Half-Jack’ – The Dresden Dolls**

Newt was coping, he really was, but in the same way that someone trapped under a burning beam holds it together. Knowing that everything is crashing and falling apart around them, knowing that there isn’t a thing they can do to stop it but only fighting against it because they felt that they _should_ do something. That they shouldn’t just give up even if they knew it would end the same way no matter what they did.

The past six months had been both better and worse in a number of different ways – he had a wonderful, supportive companion that obviously cared very much about him, a close-knit group of friends and several new additions to his creature family that helped to lull him back into ordinary life. If it could be called that of course, granted the latter things weren’t too unusual if you discounted the portable Magizoo and the magically-created cellar full of arguably bizarre creatures. It was just about the right amount of ordinary for Newt to handle – a reasonable routine that always managed to shake itself up due to the unique natures of his friends and creatures. Queenie, for instance, was always shaking things up in some way or another with her knack for raising drama out of others’ thoughts and gossip, as well as the new business she was running with Jacob. The bakery had become unsurprisingly successful due to the two’s bright, bubbly personalities and talent in the kitchen, so they were often incredibly busy, but still seemed to always find the time to visit Newt and bring along excessive amounts of baked goods. He was pretty sure that Queenie was still doing this as an apology despite the fact she must know by know that he didn’t blame her for anything that had happened. It really wasn’t her fault. She and Jacob seemed to be settling into London life well with the help from himself and Theseus even if the latter brother was often very busy himself. Often, the oddly regular meals would be interrupted by Tina and Theseus popping in and out at random intervals because of Ministry related issues, but Newt didn’t mind as it allowed him a little peace from the constant tension that built in the room whenever he, Tina, Percival and Theseus were together. Theseus would glare at Percival; the latter would try to ignore the former and Tina would try to diffuse the situation while Queenie just stoked everything up – intentionally or not. The blonde just tended to pick up on others’ thoughts and blurt them at unfortunate or inappropriate times, though he had to admit that she hadn’t done that with him since before the wedding. He remembered that she had said she would try to keep out of his head to give him privacy, but he hadn’t really expected her to actually do it as he was aware it was an instinctive thing in her and therefore hard to control.

But the reason why she hadn’t done so with him just brought him on to the main issue he was trying to avoid contemplating as much as was humanly possible. The issue that just so happened to take the form of a distractingly captivating and captive dark wizard.

Grindelwald had become surprisingly – _suspiciously -_ agreeable after he had asked Newt to tell him what he could do to make Newt happy. For the first few weeks after that had happened, they had settled into their previous, awkward routine of mostly ignoring one another whilst Newt tried to sleep and Gellert either stared, paced or read his newest book. Newt hadn’t seen Dumbledore come back to the cell in the time he had been there, but he had seen new books arrive, the old disappear and noticed that there were even fresh clothes in the corner, neatly folded in a pile. He wasn’t sure if the comforts had been requested by Gellert or if Albus had just decided to bring them in an attempt to keep the dark wizard from making it too hard on Newt, but either way, it did seem to placate him a little. It hadn’t stopped him from striking up conversations of course; Newt doubted that there was anything in the world that would make the wizard tire of the sound of his own voice or trying to engage Newt. But at least he had begun to bring up topics which were less difficult to contemplate than the affections of a homicidal, torture-loving maniac. Instead he spoke to Newt of his interests - asking how Newt’s days had been in a bizarrely commonplace manner. Of course, Newt had been reluctant to share anything personal or potentially hazardous to his friends with Gellert, but after about two months of softly persistent questioning and mildly snarky comments, he had begun to relent. The reason he did so was because for almost every answer he gave he seemed to receive an equally honest one in return. He had discovered quite quickly that the bond would tell him if the dark wizard was lying to him, twanging in the air between them like a silver pulse of telling and soon, both had decided that the best way to avoid revealing something they didn’t want to, was to simply to not say anything whatsoever.   

By these means he found himself not quite relaxing in his sleeping hours, but at least getting better rest that he had done when he resisted the wizard’s presence. His body was getting enough rest to sustain it, but his mind was kept active for as long as Gellert inflicted his will upon it, which, due to his boredom and obsession, was almost always. Newt had found that the best way to gain enough favour with the wizard was to simply answer the fairly innocuous questions and then Gellert would allow him to sink into that deeper, proper level of sleep that most people sunk into just by closing their eyes. In fact, after one particularly long conversation about Newt’s time at Hogwarts before his expulsion Gellert had then failed to reappear in his dreams for nearly a whole month. His dreams had instead been normal, horrible still, but not magically induced and for those few, sweet weeks Newt had recovered enough from his constant mental exhaustion so that when the wizard had reappeared again it hadn’t been as bad as it could have. During the month of July, he had spent his days actually _enjoying_ his waking moments, not dreading the time he would have to sleep again but at the same time retaining a lingering fear for when the reprieve could end. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that Grindelwald would give up on his one connection to the outside world and the man he was so enamoured with, as easily as Newt just talking to him about his school years. He supposed that it was a reward of sorts for his cooperation and as much as he still worried about _why_ the dark wizard wanted to hear about his life, he couldn’t help but revel in the relative freedom.   

But it _had_ been good. He has become at ease enough during that time to allow himself to properly appreciate Percival’s company, had even been able to progress enough in his newfound confidence with his partner to risk broaching further physical contact between them. Not much mind you; not enough to satiate the fiery need that resided within both, but enough so that Newt felt confident enough to reassure Percival that he would be ready to go further in future. It took time, but the flashbacks and unwanted associations between Gellert and Percival began to fade – as he got to know both men better, he found that it became easier to differentiate between the two. Their singular behaviours and tells became more familiar and easier to distinguish so that the triggering actions became less and less frequent. While Percival was certainly not all fluffy bunny smiles and sweet nothings whispered in his ear (although there was a fair amount that too) but he had become more comfortable around Newt in his actions he had begun to let his natural, more intense nature take over. Newt had discovered that Percival had been trying to mediate any and all behaviours that could remind him of Grindelwald’s impersonation of him, and while he appreciated the amount of care the other man was willing to put into their relationship to make it easier for Newt, he also found that he somewhat preferred the brooding intensity of Percival’s natural disposition. It somehow felt more fitting for him and he was glad that Percival felt comfortable enough to be himself around him. He liked the heated stares, lingering touches, gruff nature and protective stances he adopted around Newt and Newt alone.   

The voice often liked to remind him that it was probably just in-keeping with his penchant for attracting monsters, but he had firmly rebuffed the voice by pointing out that someone could have a troubled past and guarded nature without being a monster. The defining line between having a troubled past and being a terrible person lay within how you handled said past – whether you attempted to overthrow an entire world order through violence, torture and manipulation or if you tried to upkeep order through a moral - _if flawed_ \- system. Gellert had often too challenged Newt’s views of that topic in particular; trying to convince him that he and Percival were not as different as Newt would like to believe – that they were both warriors for what they believed to be justice. The only difference, said he, was how they aimed to achieve that goal – what they were willing to do to achieve such feats. _What true crime is there in fighting for what you believe to be justice? Do others not believe that your fights for creatures are misguided? How is my fight any different?_  Newt had not engaged him on that point, and it had oddly enough resulted in a few days of quiet between them – just silent, pointed staring on Gellert’s part.   

But he and Percival’s relationship had definitely developed to the point that he felt that they could share almost anything with one another – expect for the obvious matter of the blood-bond, but he did that more to protect Percival from things he couldn’t control. It did not stop Newt from being surprised however, when, the in earliest part of morning after he had rescued Henry and taken care of his new creature’s wounds and living habitat, he had stepped into his living room to find Percival slumped asleep on his sofa. In the near year that he had known the Auror, he had only seen Percival sleep once and that had been when he had drifted off after tea with Queenie and the American had had a particularly long day at MACUSA. Then, he had been barely dozing and had jerked awake the moment Newt attempted to subtly extricate himself from underneath the crushing weight of the Auror, but now, he was slumped against the sofa’s overstuffed green back and fast asleep.

His mouth was slightly open, head back and tossing from side to side in agitated, aborted movements that Newt quickly recognised as a nightmare. Having not wanted his partner to witness whatever his body did whilst he was asleep, lest it be as damning as he feared it to be, Newt had often insisted that he and Percival sleep separately from one another even if Percival was spending the night over in London when he had the time. He had felt guilty at the suggestion, but Percival had seemed oddly acquiescent to the idea and watching the Auror now, he realised that he might not be the only one suffering in his night-time experiences. Newt stood hesitantly at the open mouth of his case, watching Percival twitch and mumble incoherently in his sleep for some time before softly turning, closing the case, latching it shut and approaching him.        

He knelt in front of Percival, gently placing one hand on his knee and tentatively reached the other up to stroke his dark hair away from where a light sweat had it clinging to the side of his face. It had grown out a little more, still neat and styled but less severe than it had been, the dark, spiky strands covering the greying areas and even in his distressed state he looked younger than when Newt had first met him. He felt unsure whether to wake the tired looking man, but more mumbles and his creasing brows prompted Newt to softly speak, stroking his jaw with one thumb and his temple with another finger. “Percy? Can you hear me?”

It resulted in a deepening of the lines on his pale face, head slumping forwards in apparent distress and the mumbles became slightly more coherent so that Newt could begin to make out syllables. “N’wt…s’ry… no…”

The sounds tugged at his heart and he tightened his grip minutely, tapping his cheek slightly to prompt him awake but still not wanting to startle him; he knew how bad an idea startling awake a troubled dreamer was...especially one that was adept in wandless magic. “Percival? Its alright, it’s just a dream.” His head thrashed to one side, away from Newt’s hand and his eyes moved frantically beneath his lids so fast that Newt couldn’t help but wonder what on earth the man was seeing. He tapped his face a bit harder, using his other hand to lightly shake Percival’s shoulder, not hard enough to startle him hopefully, but enough so that he might feel the contact and come back to the waking world on his own. Unfortunately, it resulted in a strangled yell and Newt found himself flung backwards across the room and he only just managed to cast a wandless cushioning charm before he hit the wall behind him, despite his efforts his shoulder still clipped the fireplace mantel as he slid down it. It didn’t hurt much more than a bruise, so he got back up immediately and made his way cautiously over to where Percival seemed to be stuck between wakefulness and sleep, eyes half-open and darting rapidly, though hazily, about the room. He hated seeing Percival like this – looking confused and vulnerable but he knew better than to sweep the older man into an embrace like he wanted to, having had enough experience with skittish, half-coherent creatures to know sudden movements weren’t a good idea. Instead he held out a hand to the American, palm flat and eyes following Percival’s slowly rousing movements as he pushed himself up properly against the sofa, eyes focussing gradually as sleep left him. “Newt?”

“Percival.”

The Auror blinked and his dark, clouded eyes fixed upon Newt’s open, anxious ones, taking him in for a few moments before he shook his head, brushing a hand back through his barely mussed hair. “Damn it, Newt, I’m sorry.”

Trusting that his partner recognised he wasn’t a threat he took a few steps forwards, tentatively sitting on the sofa beside him and regarding him with concerned sea-blue eyes. “It’s alright, no need to apologise. You’ve handled much worse from me I’d wager.” They both knew it to be true, but Percival still shook his head, frowning.

“Perhaps, but I’m supposed to be the one who’s there for you… you shouldn’t have to deal with my trivial problems like this.” Newt was the one to frown and shake his head this time, grasping Percival’s hand softly but firmly in his own and prompting the older man to meet his gaze – an odd reversal of their usual roles but Newt knew that he had to say this right.

“Percival, I may not be very experienced with this sort of thing but I’m pretty sure that we’re meant to be there for each other; not just you for me. I would like to think that you trusted me enough to talk to me if something is troubling you. It shouldn’t matter if you think it’s not important or if you’re worried about upsetting me – if you want to talk about something, anything then I’m more than willing to listen.”     

Percival looked at him oddly – equal amounts uncertain and appreciative. “But… don’t you have enough to deal with on your own right now, Newt? I mean you haven’t been sleeping well.” The question was a clear gateway – a way to divert the focus of the conversation away from him and Newt wasn’t going to let it work this time around. Over the past months they had talked about Newt’s experiences a little more with each attempt Percival made, but anytime he tried to reverse the situation and try to get his partner to open up he had become instantly cagey. Newt wanted to be able to help Percival like he had him and despite the Auror’s assurances that he was fine, this nightmare and involuntary magical reaction indicated the exact opposite. It was clear that he was holding back on his own difficulties because he was worried it would worsen Newt’s own troubles. Not that he would admit it of course, but Newt doubted there was anything he could say about his own imprisonment that could disturb him now, not with the constant reminders he was already receiving every night. He just wanted to be able to help Percival come to grips with it and ease his pain as he had done for Newt – mutually assured salvation.

“I’m sleeping as well as I ever will.” It was true but Newt skated past the comment before Percival could interrupt. “But you need to learn to accept help when you clearly need it. You don’t ever talk to me about what happened when Gel- Grindelwald abducted you and its clearly still affecting you.” He paused, hand coming up to lightly cup Percival’s cheek, looking at the man through his lashes imploringly. “I think it would help us both to cope better – a burden shared is a burden halved.”

Percival looked on the verge of caving and offered, stilted “I just worry that this won’t-”

Newt cut him off with a soft, quick, sweet kiss and smiled minutely at him “Worrying just means you suffer twice.”   

Percival chuckled at that and shook his head slightly, leaning back against the arm of the sofa with a tired sigh, brushing a hand over his face. “You should take your own advice more often, Newt.”

“I will when you do.” Newt replied firmly and Percival sighed again before opening his mouth, pausing for a moment as if unsure of how to begin.

“Try imagining that you’re just giving a report to President Picquery.” Newt prompted softly – knowing how confident and detached Percival could be when he was working and supposing that it could be a good way for the reticent man to speak of what happened without being overwhelmed. Newt had found his own coping mechanisms in the scars on his arm as well as in his recently begun journal – he had found that writing his thoughts, feelings and memories down in the third person as if recounting an experience with an animal helped him to detach himself from it all. The silver lined scars had become a less healthy outlet but an unfortunately more effective one. He had progressively discovered that whenever he subconsciously dug his nails into where the metal cleaved his flesh, that the pain would shock him out of whatever unpleasant contemplation or memory he had been trapped in. It helped to alleviate the flashbacks even if he knew it was just making matters much worse in more ways than one.

But more on that later, for now Percival was what was important.   

The Auror nodded at Newt’s suggestion and the magizoologist found himself wondering if he had told Picquery – or anyone – what he was hopefully about to impart to Newt.

“It was October, the nineteenth, I think, because I had just finished the case on the illegal substance smuggling ring that had been going on in Brooklyn for months before our raid. The rest of the department decided to celebrate as they’d all been working overtime on the case for weeks and wanted to blow off some steam.” Percival’s voice was quiet, low and smooth as if he were recounting a boring, everyday occurrence such as a MACUSA board meeting rather than the precursor to what Newt knew was months of captivity and pain. Newt didn’t dare interrupt verbally, simply nodding in silent encouragement when Percival looked up at him from where his eyes were fixed on the last glowing embers that resided in Newt’s fireplace.

“I wouldn’t have usually encouraged them to indulge in such revels, but they had suggested going to one of my favourite bars nearby – The Fevered Eel. Don’t ask why it’s called that because I don’t know, but they serve decent drinks and have open-floor music nights. Good set of oldstyle ivory too, like back home.” He smiled slightly, if bitterly but shook his head before continuing, eyes darkening. “Anyway, I went along, kept an eye on the younger idiots as they got pissed but otherwise had an okay night – even thought that I’d managed to hit it off with the best-looking guy in the bar.” This time the laugh was not even vaguely humorous, just pure bitterness that caught at Newt’s heart he could tell that Percival blamed himself for whatever happened next and that he was ashamed to admit it. Newt softly grasped his hand again, not breaking his gaze away from his face or Percival’s gaze from the glowing embers.    

“It was a trick… I guess Grindelwald must have been watching me for some time before he struck – learnt my, uh, preferences when it came to men.” He flushed very slightly, and Newt felt his stomach curl in apprehension and anger at Gellert’s invasiveness into Percival’s privacy. “I took him back to my place without anyone suspecting anything, lured me off from under the noses of the ‘ _best_ that MACUSA had to offer’.” His tone was scathing, remorseful. “I didn’t realise anything was wrong until we went inside my apartment and he drew his wand the moment he thought my back was turned. I managed to block his stunner and he was- it was difficult to defend myself so quickly against that amount of power, I didn’t realise who he was-…. I hadn’t been expecting-” He took a deep breath and shook his head, blinking away the fog of memory before glancing back up at Newt. “After a while he just got annoyed when he realised that I wasn’t just going to roll over and submit, so knocked the floor out from under me, I managed to catch myself, but it left me open to his follow-up stunning spell.”  

Percival took another breath, pausing as he gathered himself, Newt minutely tightening his grip on Percival’s hand, stroking a thumb across his in a way reminiscent of how Percival had done so numerous times before to comfort Newt. When Percival continued his voice was rougher, lower and the lengthened shadows in the dim room cast his handsome face in stark contrast. “When I woke, I was in that squalid little hole he’d carved out of the subway walls, but I didn’t know that at the time, all I knew was that it was dark, cold, silent and that my magic had been bound. He’d sealed me away in a cage of impenetrable magic and left me there with only enough space to sit and I had absolutely no idea where I was, how long I’d been there or who had captured me. For a while I thought I was dead....”

His voice cracked a little here, and Newt felt his heart splinter slightly along already present hairline fractures, he could tell how much Percival had been repressing and how well he had been doing in hiding it all but now the floodgate seemed to have opened. Percival’s gaze was fixed upon the ashes in the grate and with a mere wave of his hand there were suddenly a flame burning in it once again. Lighting up the room a bit brighter as if he were trying to chase away the shadows from his memories – the darkness and loneliness of the cell. Newt waved his left hand towards the wood basket and several logs floated free and dropped into the hungry flames, sparking them brighter and feeding them to maintain the warmth and light.

“I don’t know how long it was before Grindelwald turned up but it both made it worse and better because I at least knew who had taken me prisoner and that I wasn’t in fact dead, but it made it much worse because I realised what he was doing and that MACUSA was in danger – that _people_ were in danger because of me. Because I had been _stupid_ enough to let myself get caught.” His tone was harsh and full of self-loathing that left Newt shaking his head in defiance of the accusation – it hadn’t been Percival’s fault. There were very few people in the world who would have even stood a chance against both Gellert and the Elder Wand, let alone actually put up a reasonable fight in which Grindelwald would have to cheat to win. Newt knew just how difficult fighting against the dark wizard’s power was and rubbed Percival’s hand in firmer strokes, as if somehow trying to ingrain that knowledge in him without Newt’s words interrupting his venting.  

“He made sure that I _knew_ exactly what he was doing – took my hair and made sure I watched him transform into me. He wanted to rub it in and let me _know_ just how fucking helpless I was to do a damn thing about it.”

Newt didn’t mean to correct him, but the words blurted out before he could stop them, and it surprised Percival’s whiskey-brown eyes up to his. “He didn’t take your hair for Polyjuice.”

“What?” Percival asked, confused, and Newt swallowed, cursing himself for opening his big mouth.

“I mean, he, uh, just took that to confuse you – didn’t want people to realise how he was faking being you or the extent of his power.”

“He tell you that did he?” Percival asked bitterly, eyes on his hands which were clasped on his knees in front of him. Newt nodded mutely – it was technically true even if the way he had found that out had been because of how the dark wizard had transformed right in front of him. The young Magizoologist’s nails ground subconsciously into the scarred flesh on his left wrist under his sleeve, pushing into the grooves around one line and simultaneously pushing away the memories of _that_. He gritted his teeth minutely against the familiar pain and focussed on Percival instead; he needed him now.    

“Anyway, even though he seemed to have plenty of information on me already, he decided to get better answers about every little aspect of my MACUSA life that he could. Thankfully he didn’t seem bothered about my personal life past what could be useful or relevant to him.” He released a shaky breath. “He didn’t find out much about my family apart from the fact that I don’t really keep in regular contact with them. It was enough so that he didn’t have to worry about them figuring him out.”

Newt only knew only quite basic knowledge about Percival’s family – being that his stern father was dead a good seven years now, his mother lived in her family home in Ireland and that he had several cousins, uncles and aunts who he described as ‘pureblood obsessed asshats’. Newt supposed that the safely distanced nature of his family had come both as a relief and an unwelcome reminder of how isolated he had been. Percival began to tremble now under Newt’s hand, and it was all Newt could do to just tell him to stop because he knew that leaving the story half-told would just leave the wounds open to fester. It had to be just got out now.

“He tried Veritaserum, of course, but all high-ranking officials in MACUSA are required to undergo resistance training which includes building up an immunity to it.” His tone was hard, cold, clinical, now, as if resorting back to the tactic of detaching himself from the situation with formality. “Of course, his next play was to use the Imperius curse but again, I had enough personal… experience to resist for quite some time I think… but after a while… days maybe… I couldn’t fight it much longer. He had started using more… brutal methods to wear down my will between each bout and eventually I began to answer simply because I knew it _wouldn’t stop_.”

There were tears in his eye, furious, unshed ones but Newt saw them glimmering in the firelight, hot, cold and hard like Hebridean Black dragon-scales. Dark and shimmering with barely constrained power. He could only imagine how difficult it must have been for Percival to be trapped in a pain filled, timeless, lightless hole with only Gellert’s overbearing, cruel presence for company… alright maybe he didn’t have to imagine it all too much, but to have the added torture of being otherwise an incredibly powerful, capable Auror and yet still being rendered helpless… that must have been unspeakably awful. He pulled his gangly legs up onto the sofa beside him and curled into Percival’s warm chest like he did when they were talking of uncomfortable topics but instead of relying on him to be the strength, this time Newt tried to do the same for his partner. He pulled Percival’s tightly clasped hands away from one another and pressed one to the young Magizoologist’s chest, mirroring the steadying, grounding gesture from what felt like so long ago. As Newt leant against Percival’s chest, he could feel the heartbeat slow and even out until it was a pleasingly smooth rhythm again.

After a few minutes he felt Percival squeeze his wrist gently, prompting him to remove it and let the American continue his narrative. “I don’t really remember most of it in all honesty, it kind of… blurred into a series of darkness only interrupted by that sadistic fuck coming back to rub it in further. He didn’t just use the Cruciatus although that seemed to be his favourite… there was that muzzle and… I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you what that was like to have on for most of the time…” Newt shuddered at the thought against Percival’s chest and the older man must have felt it as he pulled Newt slightly closer, rubbing a hand absently along Newt’s arm before continuing in a dispassionate, distant voice, tone just as low as ever. “I guess he must’ve set up wards to keep me alive and reasonably healthy because he didn’t ever leave food – just water and not much of it. I couldn’t really move much at all… you saw exactly how I was bound for my entire captivity when you rescued me. Took quite a few courses of physical therapy and spells to get me moving again properly after that.”

Newt remembered finding the shattered wards around the concealed area of track when he was seeking out Credence and looking back now, he wondered if the wards had broken because Grindelwald’s magic had temporarily been contained or if he had allowed them to fall. In either case he couldn’t shake the image of Percival as he had found him, huddled, dusty, bound and bloody – magic supressing chains around his wrists and a collar around his throat keeping him connected to the wall behind him.

The image of the fake-Percival rearing back from Newt’s blows on a bed back in Nurmengard and the sight of the bandaged wounds in the New York hospital on Percival’s side prompted Newt to unconsciously ghost a hand over the affected area of the chest he leant against. “You told me this was from severing charms?”

Percival smiled thinly, grimly and glanced down at the covered area before meeting Newt’s curious, sad eyes. “Yes, he did that when he came back after discovering some of the earlier information I had given him was not quite as accurate as he thought it was.” He released a humourless, bitter laugh and Newt’s brows rose worriedly but laced still with impressment. “He almost got caught out going into a records vault with the wrong passwords, but unfortunately, the snake managed to talk his way out of it. Was pretty funny until he clipped my liver with one of the spells. He healed it up eventually but left me with it for long enough so that I thought he was just going to let me bleed out.”        

At the horrified expression on Newt’s face he schooled his bitter humour into something more contrite and shook his head, straightening slightly against the cushions. Newt winced a bit as the shift in position nudged the forming bruises on his shoulder and although his reaction was subtle Percival still picked up on it at such proximity and frowned. “Alright?”  

Newt laughed softly and rubbed a little at the offended shoulder, trying to play it off and sitting up himself. “Fine. Just need to work on my spur of the moment cushioning charms a bit.”

“Henry throw you about a bit too much then?” Newt was nonplussed for a few moments before he realised that Percival hadn’t realised what he had done in his waking moments and promptly snapped his mouth shut and nodded hastily. It clearly didn’t convince the Auror however as he looked instantly concerned, pulling a bit at the collar of Newt’s shirt as if trying to get to the minor damage to check on it for his own fingerprints in the damage or some such nonsense. “Newt, sweetheart, I’m so sorry, you should have told-”

“Percy its fine, I’m fine, calm down, it was barely a push. Just a one-time thing and no one was hurt, right?” Newt smiled at him reassuringly and to his relief Percival released a bitter chuckle.   

“Not the first time actually, but I suppose you’re right that no one was really hurt.”

“Oh?” Newt asked, curious and Percival offered him a sly though slightly contrite grin. 

“I _may_ have thrown your brother back in his chair and restrained him when he made the mistake of waking me the night before we came after you. I fell asleep in Dumbledore’s living room after a little too much Fire-Whiskey and might’ve run my mouth a little bit about… well you.”

Newt cocked an eyebrow, looking up at Percival through his lashes with a grin. “And what pray tell, did you run your mouth about?”

Percival huffed out a laugh and offered his own cocky smirk that made Newt’s insides melt just a little. “Well, I can’t remember much of it… but I think it was something along the lines of how damn wonderful you are?”

Newt blushed and risked pressing his lips to Percival’s lightly stubbled jaw in quick, featherlight kisses. “Oh really? I can’t imagine Theseus reacted very well to that at all.”

Percival laughed heartily this time “No. No, he definitely did not. Oddly enough your old professor stepped in to defend my drunken ramblings before Theseus could hex me into the next century.”

Newt tilted his head to the side thoughtfully “Why do you find that odd? He’s been very supportive of our relationship – convinced me that I should follow my instincts and ignore Theseus’ misgivings on the matter.”

Percival looked genuinely surprised at that “Really?”

“Yeah. What is it with you and Theseus not trusting Albus?”

Percival sighed and dipped his head slightly before answering almost hesitantly “We are both just concerned that you… may not be seeing the whole picture with him and may be letting your admiration for him blind you to his feelings concerning Grindelwald.”

Newt leant back away from Percival at that, frowning bewilderedly “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Once again Percival seemed oddly hesitant to answer but a continued stare from Newt seemed to make him realize that once he’d started digging this hole there was no use in stopping now. “I know he was your teacher and that he’s a close friend, but you’ve got to admit that Grindelwald doesn’t seem to be quite as imprisoned as Dumbledore implies he is. His followers seem to be getting orders from somewhere and some reported even seeing him. Don’t you think that there’s a possibility that Dumbledore might be at the very least… relenting on his imprisonment because of some lingering sympathies towards him?”

Newt shook his head disbelievingly at what he was hearing “That’s ridiculous.”

Percival looked minorly contrite but still firm in his motives as he sat up straighter still, shoulders tensing and eyes narrowing slightly. “Is it? You know him better than I, you probably have a better idea of just how deeply in together they were. Can you honestly tell me that you think those kinds of feelings just go away quite so easily? Don’t you think it seems convenient for Grindelwald to give the impression of being imprisoned by his only equal, but his warmongering work still goes on as if he never left?”

“There’s no conspiracy going on between Albus and Gellert. He is trapped and what’s going on outside is probably just his fanatics following contingency plans and sustained orders.”

“How can you be so sure, Newt?” Percival practically snapped at him and Newt stood, face flushing in irritation and exasperation at being verbally herded into a corner like this. He didn’t want to get into _this_ argument, not when he could easily finish it with a few words but consequentially begin a much more difficult to handle argument by doing so.

“I thought you trusted me?” Both men flinched at that and Newt felt guilt eat at him, but he pushed it aside as being necessary to keep Percival away from issues that were best left under wraps.

“Low blow, Newt. You know I do, but I need a bit more than vague statements to trust that that bastard is really no longer a danger to the wizarding world – to us.”

Newt swallowed, ducking his nervously, furiously he felt his left-hand curl tightly in on itself of its own accord, the markings itching in that awfully familiar way as his nails drew blood around the wounds. The young magizoologist forced himself to take a few deep breaths before he met Percival’s challenging, worried gaze and speak in an even tone. “I’m sorry, Percival, I can’t explain it, but… please just trust that I wouldn’t ever hide anything that could endanger you or the wizarding world.”

Percival’s eyes widened and asked solemnly, tensely “And what about something that would endanger you?”

Newt averted his gaze, stepping back around the sofa towards his case “I’m… as safe as I’ll likely ever be… just trust in that… please, Percy?”

The plea was soft and whatever Percival found in his blue eyes must have convinced him to back down as his shoulders slumped and he didn’t move after Newt as he descended into his case. Just as he pulled the lid closed behind him, he heard a low, soft voice mutter “You’ll be the death of me one day, Newt.”     

What stung most about the words was that Newt was still not sure they weren’t true.

He descended into the case, not feeling the desire to sleep straight away, even though his brain was tired as it ever was, so decided to do a last check on his creatures before retiring for the night or was it early morning? In either case he did his usual circuit of the case, greeting the nocturnal creatures with tired enthusiasm and surreptitiously checking on the slumbering ones and being glad when he found nothing out of the ordinary. The new Mooncalves were practically adults by this point and hopped about their perma-nocturnal enclosure with their parents, eager to greet Newt with nuzzling and accepted the pellets he let drift out into the air for them to munch on. Pickett, as per usual refused to return to his home tree when Newt passed by though he did greet his family in brief, polite little chirps when they spoke to him. As much as Newt knew he should make his closest Bowtruckle friend spend more time in his natural habitat with others of his kind, he had found Pick’s presence to be an unspeakable help over the past months. He acted as yet another constantly grounding figure for Newt whenever everything got a bit too much, would often poke at Newt’s hand, neck or face with insistent spindly fingers to rouse Newt from any hallucination or unfortunate memory track he began to fall down. They shared such an enduring, close bond that the Bowtruckle could almost always tell if his adopted home-tree was agitated and would often do anything he could to help.  

Finding nothing amiss amongst his regulars he made his way over to the new grassy, rocky habitat he had created for Henry towards the back of the case, passing through the wards and regarding the slumbering giant feline with a fond, sad smile. The sight was both a source of relief and an unpleasant reminder for the young magizoologist as he both cherished the thought that the beautiful, rare creature was now safe from the bastards who had been hunting him, but also a slight melancholy over the thought of what he had done to get him here. What he had told his friends hadn’t been a _complete_ lie, although he was getting concerningly used to hiding things from them over recent months, but he hadn’t been lying as much as they seemed to suspect he was. A woman _had_ come into the shop complaining of the loud crashes and roars that had been heard nearby but she hadn’t actually been informing him particularly of the Zouwu – just complaining loudly to her friend about the disturbance. Newt had known better however, having been given a heads up from his involuntary cellmate about the progress of the creature several days before. He had unsurprisingly been aware of the creature’s escape during the fights that broke out during his rally in Paris, but Newt _had_ been astonished to learn that the dark wizard had used whatever outside communication methods he had going on to keep track of Henry. Of all the things the wizard could expend his supposedly limited contact with the outside world to do, Newt hadn’t imagined that rescuing endangered magical beasts was really at the top of his priorities. But then again, he did seem to always be trying to please Newt in whatever bizarre way he could. At least recently anyway, and as much as Newt loathed to accept any favours from the man, he hadn’t been stubborn enough to refuse the opportunity to save the Zouwu just because of his own pride.

As usual, nothing came free with Gellert however and another reason why Newt was unwilling to go to sleep just yet was because he knew that when he did, he would have to pay the price for the information. He had promised Gellert another favour in return for the Zouwu’s location and while Gellert had assured him it wouldn’t be anything he would come to regret, Newt had understandably had trouble trusting anything he said, but acquiesced, nonetheless. But by the time his pocket watch showed the time to be almost dawn outside of the artificially created environments of his case, Newt finally realised that it would probably be better for him to just get this over and done with. _No point in prolonging the inevitable eh, Newt?_

He made his way back over to the shed, shucking off his waistcoat and removing his tie with a weary sigh as he flopped himself down onto the cot. He could have gone up to his own much more comfortable bed upstairs but that would likely require turfing aside a sleeping Auror and Newt didn’t really have the energy do so right now. Best to let Percival sleep on it and hope he was feeling a bit less argumentative and inquisitive in the morning. _Fat chance._ Almost as soon as Newt had flopped onto the lumpy cot, he found himself sinking into the cushions and straight through it into the familiar stone-walled cell that had grown to be both a hell and a haven for the respective torment and occasional peace he found there. Gellert was waiting for him of course, Newt imagined that there was little better to do even with the added distraction of books the wizard was bored most all of the time.

“You really do need to take better care of yourself, Newton, honestly, do you have no respect for your own wellbeing whatsoever?” He drawled, uncrossing his legs from where they had been casually draped over one another on the cell floor, observing Newt sceptically as the magizoologist shifted awkwardly, tensely on the spot where he stood.

Newt scowled though it was traced with genuine amusement “Why does everyone keep on asking me that lately?”

“Likely because even the dullest of creatures could see that you are _not_ taking good care of yourself.”

Knowing exactly what Gellert was implying with the comment he frowned, ducking his head to one side “My friends aren’t dull, Gellert.”

“Of course not, I suppose that dear Percy has finally figured out what you’ve been hiding from him then?”

Newt glared “Not exactly, no, but that's hardly his fault.”

Gellert laughed “I would have expected such a renowned Auror and interrogator to be able to get simple answers out of you by now, but I suppose that everyone has off days sometimes… or rather months.”  

“And whose fault is that?” Newt snapped, thinking of everything Percival had told him with indignant anger rising in him as regarded Gellert with a new level of hostile perception. Gellert raised an eyebrow at him and Newt felt the bond hum in the air between them – not in the way of a lie, but in the way that Newt knew he was tapping into his surface memories and immediately tried to bury them but not before a slow, bitter smile spread across his smooth face.

“Ah, I see that you’ve managed to get the infamously reticent Percival Graves to finally open up about his biggest failure.”

“He told me what you did, I’m surprised you resorted to deceiving him at a bar to lure him in, though I suppose someone with as little respect for personal boundaries as you its not a huge leap of the imagination.” Newt replied scathingly, attempting to get under his skin in return but only receiving a laugh for his efforts.

“Personal boundaries is it now, Newt? I think you’ll recall that I have been nothing short of a perfect gentleman with you as of late, have I not? You told me that the distinction between your relationship with Percival and myself lay within the knowledge shared between one another and respect for each other’s feelings? Have I not done just that?” Newt didn’t respond and Gellert took it as a que to continue with a sly smirk working its way onto his thin lips. “Besides, I wouldn’t call what I did with dear Percival unwanted, he seemed perfectly keen on having a handsome young man with a head of blonde curls follow him home after all. And why not? Perhaps I should have added freckles to the look as he seems to like them so much.”

Newt’s cheek flushed lightly under his own and he attempted another sarcastic remark of his own though it lacked the usual venom he might have aimed the dark wizard’s way. “Not confident enough in your own ‘dashing good looks’ to gain someone’s attention? I’m astonished, cocky git like you can barely stand under the weight of your own ego.”

Gellert laughed good-naturedly with the confidence of someone who was assured of their own attractiveness enough to be able to flick off such petty jabs with practised ease. “If you must know, I did use my own face, in fact, just aged it back to a point where it would be less recognisable. Evened out my eyes a bit too, of course. I do have an international reputation after all. But it was enough to do the job – its quite obvious that your dear director has a penchant for younger men.”   

Newt glared but again refused to rise to the bait or the hypocrisy of the statement until Gellert stood and walked forward, forcing eye contact at the same moment he offered a tendril of memories that were oddly familiar to Newt. In his surprise he grasped onto it reflexively and was flooded with the images of he had seen during the blood-bond – of a much younger Gellert reading with Albus under the winter bright sky, speaking late at night in Albus’s bedroom, Gellert perching lazily upon the windowsill, ready to disappear at a moment’s notice should Albus’s family enter and discover them together. Its oddly endearing to see the sadistic, homicidal maniac in such an oddly adorable role – like a fairy-tale fay creature come to entertain children with magical tricks and tales of whimsy. Though the description was likely equally as fitting in that the handsome young curly-haired youth would grow to become someone who probably wouldn’t have no qualms with kidnapping or killing children. But even as quickly as the association enters Newt’s mind it is pushed aside by more images of a younger Gellert – smiling, laughing and fascinated as he and Albus interact over the brief time they had spent together.

The memories deepen seemingly of their own accord and Newt is suddenly witnessing much more intimate moments, he can feel Gellert trying to pull back now but they are both caught in the waterfall of sensations, pulled inexorably into the moments later in those nights. Gellert still perched upon the windowsill like a Puck sprite, blonde hair, pale skin and beautifully mismatched eyes cast in silvery moonlight, but now Albus is standing much closer. Young, nervous looking redheaded boy leaning in to caress Gellert’s pale face and their lips meeting, Gellert pulling him forward by the shirt into the kiss, deepening it. Newt could too feel the thrill of the moment, lips gliding smoothly against each other, Gellert’s teeth pulling playfully, dominatingly on the upturned corner of Albus’ mouth. Albus never letting go of Gellert’s cheek in that soft yet desperate grip… Its utterly bizarre and intoxicating witnessing such a cavalcade of genuine pleasure and affection, even if its tainted faintly by precursors of the familiar casual cruelty; there had truly been moments where Grindelwald had been capable of what Newt could call _love_.

Both men reeled back violently away from one another as the realisation clicks resoundingly through their shared minds. Newt hazy and overwhelmed by the avalanche of memories and sensations still fresh in his tingling senses and Gellert looked uncharacteristically unsure and Newt could swear – almost frightened. That couldn’t be right. Gellert Grindelwald didn’t _get_ frightened by anything… but he could _feel_ it; doubt and confusion warring inside him after having seen his memories through the filter of Newt’s perceptive eyes. He truly wasn’t capable of recognising what his feelings were and now that he had seen them through the eyes of someone who _could_ … he didn’t know what to do. Gellert looked so unexpectedly hurt and lost in that moment, mismatched eyes wide and slightly glassy in incomprehension, lips parted, and shoulders slumped… Newt didn’t mean to do it, but he couldn’t help himself seeing another creature so adrift. He reached forward in a blind reflection of the contact Albus had made to sooth him and brushed a hand along the side of the other wizard’s face. There was a moment of cold, indefinable nothingness before Newt’s scarred fingers suddenly sparked bright silver and he felt smooth, warm, _alive_ skin under his touch. The Magizoologist’s whole arm seemed to tingle with the contact, the literal sparks under his fingertips giving way to a more familiar kind – the heat of agreeable bodily contact.   

Both looked utterly astonished at the touch – both in its possibility and in Newt having initiated it in the first place. Newt went to snatch his hand back and Gellert moved to grab for it, as if to stop him, but thankfully his hand went straight though, and Newt could no longer sense the other man past sight and hearing. Could no longer feel the warmth of his skin or smell that odd Juniper Berry scent, though it lingered in his nostrils like the stench of something burning and he began to almost hyperventilate. Stepping back hastily, tripping slightly on the uneven stone and then taking several more back away from the wizard, eyes wide and perplexed, heart hammering wildly in his chest. _What the_ hell _had that been? What had he done? Oh Merlin, he was in far too deep._

Gellert followed him, of course he did; Newt had presented a perfect opportunity for him to push at the idea that he and Gellert belonged together in the wizard’s deranged mind. It wasn’t like that, it _wasn’t_ , he had just had a moment of weakness in which he had pitied the confused man. Had been caught up in the affection of another’s memories of love for just too intense a period. It wasn’t what he thought it was. Never would be. _Couldn’t_ be.

Gellert’s voice was quiet but soft and eager with barely contained excitement “Newt, Liebling, how did you do that? Tell me.”

Newt shook his head, pressing his back to the wall and feeling confusion and panic overtake him from the simple act of touch he had just initiated. “I- I don’t- I d-didn’t-”

Gellert shook his head too, letting out a disbelieving laugh and smiling slowly, running a hand back through his hair. “You did that. You touched me. That shouldn’t even be- you’re here in mental form only but you managed to make yourself corporeal even if only for a second.” He smiled widely and Newt felt a part of himself curl away at the disconcerting behaviour. “You truly are a wonder, Liebling.”

Newt swallowed, trying to find his voice and dissuade this before it could escalate any further down an undesirable path “I didn’t mean to do that. It was just you- you looked- It didn’t mean anything.”  

“As usual, you underestimate yourself, Newton. I didn’t expect this to be possible yet… look what you did.” His hand moved to parody the caress Newt’s own hand had made along the younger man’s cheek, but his fingers simply went through the side of Newt’s face in a fizzle and neither felt anything physically. Emotionally however, Newt was still reeling, and his right hand moved to grasp his left, pressing his nails harshly into the groove around the silvery glass to try to bring back the grounding pain. To shake himself awake. To do anything to get him _out_. It didn’t work and he felt tears pressing at the backs of his eyes, body shaking. Gellert leant forward, placing his lips next to Newt’s ear and whispering. “You never cease to amaze me.”

Newt shook himself back into coherency, ripping particularly strongly at the metal and feeling warm blood sliding down his hand as a shock went through the bond, prompting images to flash begore his eyes. He could see himself through Gellert’s eyes – wide-eyed and scared but he also got a rush of Albus’ consciousness in that moment too. The man was jolting up in bed, pushing away a blue, star covered bedcover from his body and standing barefoot on the cold stone floor of his room at Hogwarts. Both disorientating images vanished as Newt’s grip on his hand slackened, sliding back down the wall to crumple at Gellert’s feet who looked astounded.

“So _this_ is what you’ve been doing, is it? Hurting yourself to distract yourself from the inevitable.” He crouched swiftly in front of Newt, hands hovering inches above Newt’s knees as they were drawn up to his trembling chest, not able to touch but clearly wanting to. “I could feel the tremor in the bond, but I had thought it was accidental, scratches from your creatures or your besotted Auror… I had no idea that you were purposefully injuring yourself this way.” His voice was alarmingly soft and urgent as he prompted Newt to meet his mismatched gaze. “This needs to stop, Newt.”           

“So does this.” Newt rasped, his voice unexpected firm despite its harshness. “Please, please just leave me alone.” He had not begged with Grindelwald since that time so very long ago when he had pleaded the man to leave his friends alone, but not once had he coherently begged to be left alone. It was torn from him in a quiet, genuinely desperate plea. Gellert looked stuck between that same strange wonder and what looked to be contriteness.

“But I can’t do that, Kleiner.” He said softly, sadly but with a vein of odd excitement running through his words “You know as well as I that this is going to happen. Why else do you think you were chosen out as the _perfect_ host before either myself or Albus consciously decided it? It saw that we share a connection – not just through blood and magic but through a much more profound understanding that that. It only took the sealing of our souls for me to realise it, I was hoping that with time you would come to accept it of your own accord, but I can see that even when presented with proof of your own feelings you deny it still.” His voice was fierce, eyes gleaming with hunger and Newt wasn’t even aware of his trembling increasing anymore; he felt numb.

“I was willing to ignore your petty obsession with dear Percival because I was willing to be patient. But _this_ … this changes things. _He_ isn’t what drew you in, Newt, yes, he may be agreeable enough, but when you first met him or _thought_ that you did, you were drawn into more than just superficial value of a handsome face. You see people deeper than that don’t you? You saw through the façade and still you were attracted to what lay beneath. You tried to protect me in the tunnels even if you then aided in my capture. You fight against what you don’t want to understand and throw yourself at that American idiot because you want to believe that he is the better of two evils. You want to believe that you aren’t attracted to the darkness in someone just as much as you are the light.”

Newt shook his head, feeling it swirl with the alarmingly familiar tirade of coaxing, captivating words being breathed over him with increasing intensity, he could feel the heat of the other man again, but he tried his best not to make his recoiling action noticeable lest Gellert realise this and push his advantage further than Newt could handle. He was on razor’s edge as it was. He spoke, choking out words that couldn’t quite encapsulate his whirling, confused emotions. “Gellert- I don’t- how could you ever think I would- you _tortured_ me! You made me _eat my own father_! You hurt my friends! You tried to r-rape me! You tortured Percival and stole his identity to do unspeakable things to innocent people! You’ve hounded my sleep for the better part of a year! You mentally tortured the last man you claimed to love for over _thirty damn years_!” He took a deep, shuddering breath and used all traces of his courage to stare the man down, pulling his slumped shoulders and spine up to their fullest extent and spat out. “I care about Percival in a way that I never will about you. I’m sorry but there is no way I can forgive all you’ve done. Do you have any idea what you did to me? _Really_? I know you think that it was all just manipulating me into something that was useful to you, but you broke apart my damned mind until I had to find some way – _any_ way to put it back together again.” He could distantly feel the shaking now but the tears pressing behind his eyes had not fallen, he felt too cold, too angry, he felt like he was shaking himself apart.

And that was the moment that Gellert seemed to realise the tangible heat between them ands reached forward to stroke Newt’s neck, the touch barely ghosted before Newt reacted instinctively.    

He hadn’t ever felt anything like this before, this indescribable tidal wave of emotion that was consuming him. His hand twitched spasmodically at his side, currents of three bodies’ worth of magic, pain and emotion combining into one moment as he pulled back his arm and punched Grindelwald in the cheek he had so recently caressed. The shock and power of the blow made them both stagger back, a flash of silver light illuminating the cell, and both hit walls; Newt the one behind him mere inches away and Gellert the opposite one. The young magizoologist lay slumped for some time, feeling utter shock blank out his brain – what in Merlin’s name had that been? When his brain felt less fuzzy, he opened his eyes and risked a look over at the slumped form of Gellert across the cell from him, he was unmoving, eyes closed and a large burn fist-shaped mark marring the side of his face. Newt could tell from the lack of communication from the other man that he was truly unconscious, and he took both an odd moment of guilt-ridden satisfaction in it but also fear. He may have incapacitated him in this instance, but he doubted he would be able to do it again – he had no idea what that had even been!

Newt Scamander had just punched Gellert Grindelwald in the face. And with much more force than his slim frame should have been capable of; he may be stronger than he looked, but not _that_ strong. He doubted anyone was.

Newt let out an utterly hysterical laugh, raking his cumbersome fringe back, scraping it viciously away from his sweaty, flushed forehead and finally felt the tears slide down his face, wet and fast. _What have you done? What have you done? What have you done? What-_ the voice’s incredulous repeated words blurred incomprehensibly together in his ears as he sobbed jerkily. What would happen now? Would he ever be able to return to the waking world? Was he stuck here until Gellert awoke? What would he do then? What could he say to alleviate the rage that the dark wizard would no doubt be feeling? _Oh Merlin, Morgana and Mercy what to do now? What to do? What to do?_

There was a sudden crack of apparition that startled Newt’s head out of his hands, and he looked up in terror to see Albus standing above him, looking hastily dressed in just his rumpled shirtsleeves, creased trousers and slightly too small blue, starred waistcoat. He looked first the unconscious form of Gellert before managing to focus upon Newt and the younger man shrunk under the intense gaze, not sure of what to do. “I- I didn’t m-mean- I don’t k-know h-how- W-what d-did I-”

Dumbledore held up a placating hand and went over to check on the slumped dark wizard, waving his wand over him in an assessing manner and seemed shocked at what he found, Newt stood shakily, edging closer but not trusting himself to do something to trigger either man. After a few minutes of wand waving and incantations muttered under his breath Dumbledore turned and when he spoke his voice was fierce; strong with both frustration and what seemed to be fear. “You broke his jaw, Newt, I asked that you didn’t experiment with this. It’s _unbelievably_ dangerous! You effectively just harnessed the power of three people’s magic enough to break both his face _and_ the wards holding him. I have recast them, but I implore you to be more careful in future.”  

Newt stared, dumbfounded and terrified from one elder wizard to the other, feeling the numbness spreading from his chest out to his extremities like ice, he glanced down at his left arm, eying the silver markings warily and unconsciously moving to dig his nails into them again. _They just_ had _to come out!_  He had precisely no idea if he _could_ get them out or what would happen if he did, but Newt felt the overwhelming urge to just be _rid_ of the physical manifestation of this damned blood-pact. It was as if all the begrudging acquiescence he had been treating it with thus far had evaporated in those few moments – he couldn’t handle this anymore! Was it really so unfair that he just wanted to exist as himself? Not have to question every action, word and thought to know if it was his own or not? To go through his nights without the looming presence of a malevolent, delusional wizard who thought he loved him but still insisted on torturing him? To be able to live his life without these constant reminders of things that made being with the man he loved _so hard_? Why couldn’t he just go back to his wonderfully unconventional, isolated life back when he was just drifting about, meeting creatures and without worries past the immediate dangers of travelling and interacting with beasts? It was so much simpler. He missed his old life.      

Newt tugged harder, more viciously at the silver inlaid and though he felt bright, hot sparks of pain flying at the contact and saw dizzying, overwhelming flickers of both cellmate’s consciousness – Gellert’s lack of it and Albus’ stunned, disturbed view of what Newt was doing – eyes frantic and movements harsh. He carried on, only feeling Albus’ approaching presence through the wizard’s perception of it as he had scrunched his own eyes tight shut, unaware of his own senses and drowning in another’s. He felt the concern in Albus as he reached forward, gripping Newt’s arm and attempting to pry it away from the blazing, sparking silver one. The sense of the other man doubled in that instant, overwhelming the blankness from Gellert and tunnelling down Newt’s perception to just his own and Albus’. The overcome magizoologist could sense the logic in Albus’ concerned warnings – that he wasn’t going to accomplish anything good by his self-destructive actions, but his own thoughts were reeling too much, in too much despair and confusion to do more than grip tighter.

“Newt, Newt, please, stop it. You will only make this worse. You’re hurting yourself, Newt. Stop.” He heard the words ring across the bond but also distantly though his own ears, the grip on his arm and the arm under Albus’ grip or was that his too? He could feel a burning as well. Was it him? Was he burning or was he burning someone else? Or was it both? Whichever way it was, he could feel that he was burning someone who was just trying to help and that was wrong. He should stop. How could he do that? Everything felt as though it was submerged in blazing silver fire. But that was wrong, wasn’t it, hasn’t he been drowning? He was always drowning. One of them had to stop soon right? It was all so confusing. Then he felt a particularly vicious bite of fire around the other’s self and realised that this _needed_ to stop and _now_.     

He let out a yell, eyes flying wide open both in the cell and in his physical body. Newt arched up violently off the cot, gasping like a fish out of water, blue eyes wide and sightless until he wilted, and he was able to focus on his surroundings. Gellert and Albus were gone but he wasn’t alone by any stretch of the imagination. Percival was sprawled against the ladder nearby, dark eyes wide and regarding Newt in utter shock. It was then that the young magizoologist noticed that the hut was demolished, walls collapsed and smouldering in silver ashes. Feeling horror flare through the numbness at the possibility that he could have hurt his creatures. Oh, Merlin no, no, no, no, no.

Newt managed to articulate his gangly, deadened limbs into a vague order and lurched up from the bed, immediately searching out the nearby enclosures to check on his creatures, feeling relief of the highest order flood through him when he saw they were okay. Quite obviously frightened but unhurt and he went about soothing the Graphorns, Bowtruckles, Mooncalves and Fwooper. The last of which was flying about agitatedly in a swirl of dizzying colour, pecking at the other creatures and causing much more trouble than was strictly necessary, he managed to placate her with a freezing charm and putting her back in her enclosure with the others. The familiar motions were helping to sooth Newt himself and calm his wildly hammering heart as he went about the case in a numb haze, stroking, charming and treating his way back to reasonably calm state in the simulated environments. He could vaguely hear Percival’s voice in the background, feel him following behind but he couldn’t find it in himself to address the clearly agitated Auror just yet. He knew that this was likely the end of his secrets concerning Gellert, Albus and the blood-bond – Merlin only knows what Percival had witnessed but from the look on his face Newt knew it was too much not to confide in him anymore.         

His attempts to distance himself came to an abrupt halt when he felt Percival’s hand grasp his shoulder firmly and roughly pull him about to face him. He let out an involuntary squeak of fear and Percival released him as though burned, looking dishevelled and desperately confused, the smooth, soothing New York accented voice suddenly coming back into comprehension for Newt in that moment. “Newt, what in Morgana’s name was that? What happened?”

Newt stared, dry lips feeling sealed together as he supressed simultaneous urges to shout, to break down and cry, to break something, to never speak again or just to spill it all out in one go and just let Percival run for the hills. Percival shook him slightly by the shoulder, eyes confused and terrified and Newt folded, knees buckling as he collapsed forward into the Auror’s arms, feeling relief wash over him as they wrapped tightly around him. Too tight maybe, but neither cared. “Newt, tell me sweetheart, please just tell me what’s going on, please.” The plea was mumbled into his shoulder so quietly that it tore at Newt’s ravaged heart and he felt more tears leak out of his sore eyes to soak the back of Percival’s pristine white shirt. He squeezed his eyes tighter shut and clutched on but then nodded. It was barely a jerk of his head against the Auror’s shoulder, but it was enough.                            


	16. Chapter 16

**“And if I made a promise, could I stay by your side? Would you guarantee my safety? And say that I'd be alright? But if Judgement Day had started tonight at least I'd know I was right and I'd be laughing at the end of the world, take my hand tonight, I think we'll be alright…** **I need a place to hide before the storm begins…**

**If I told you all the times when I'd done wrong, could you bathe my soul and wash it all away? I can't forgive the things that I can still remember so I think, my friend, these sins are here to stay.**

**And I could make a promise with a tear in my eye and all the hope in my heart but all the doubt in my mind.” – ‘A Place to Hide’ – White Lies**

The numbness was receding, and the pain came in its wake, he could feel the blood running down his arm in long warm rivulets. Newt glanced down dazedly at the bloody, torn flesh that marred the areas he had been clawing at, feeling both distant relief and an odd sort of irritation that his efforts to rid himself of the marks even in such blind, self-destructive desperation had had little effect. He could feel that the nails of his right hand were broken, cracked, burnt and bleeding too from where they had connected with the magic-bound metal and torpidly shook out both hands, wincing as they flexed in stinging clarity.

They were currently sat in his newly repaired hut; the smouldering remains of the construction having been cleared aside and replaced in a joint effort from both wizards. They had completed the task in silence, Percival solemn and expectant and Newt slowly drawing himself away from the freezing numbness that had overcome his heart and body. Now that he had, he could feel the pain it had been abating and whilst it wasn’t really much to worry about by his standards, he was still grateful when Percival carefully took his right hand in his, waving the other over the broken, burnt fingertips and healing them with wandless precision. When he reached for Newt’s bloody left arm however the young magizoologist shook his head and pulled it back hastily, in response to Percival’s searching look he sighed and muttered. “Not a good idea to use magic on it, trust me.”         

“I do.” Percival said simply and he found himself shuddering slightly, both at the welcome simplicity of the words and at the idea that he would accept what he was about to say. He _shouldn’t_ – shouldn’t have to be dealing with a fresh wave of misery just when they had started to get past some of it. His voice was firm as he continued however, dark eyes stern on the side of Newt’s face as he stared hard at his own lightly trembling knees, folded over them and jiggering slightly in nerves. “Now, are you going to tell me what is going on with you?”

“Yes, yes, I am.” Newt stated warily, unsure of how to word the situation to inflict the least amount of difficulty on his partner and suspicion upon himself but then realising that he talking to an Auror and so just decided to answer. “I… have been considering telling you for some time but its difficult to say without sounding ridiculous.”

“I’m more than prepared for ridiculous by this point. I just found you laying the in smoking remains of your own damned shed after hearing an explosion even from upstairs from inside a suitcase.”

Newt winced and glanced around the newly repaired shed again, as if searching out the source of the destruction even whilst knowing it had been his fault. He swallowed and began hesitantly. “Before I begin, I just want you to know that I’m sorry and that I never wanted any of this to happen. I wasn’t thinking clearly through most of it, I-”

He was cut off by Percival’s hand grasping his own and gently squeezing it, he took another shuddering breath and squeezed back slightly before releasing it and moving his hands reluctantly to his shirt collar, unbuttoning it in jerky, hasty movements. Newt could feel Percival’s confused but expectant gaze on him as he worked the garment off – over the months since their more physical relationship had begun, he hadn’t once volunteered to remove his clothes for fear of revealing what lay beneath them, but now, he felt like he had little choice. It would be easier to explain with visual ques. He shuddered still as his mind flickered back to the last time he had undressed in front of someone but pushed back the trepidation forcefully – this was neither Gellert nor was it showing Percival much that he hadn’t seen before. He was sure that during their shared time in the hospital room that Percival had seen the extent of his wounds, but he couldn’t shake his apprehension at showing the Auror the… development the scars had made since last he saw them.

He flinched at the gasp from beside him on the cot and at the hand that came out to lightly trace over each wound but at the same time found himself relaxing into the touch. It felt like an oddly soothing balm of familiarity on the memory-laced scars that were woven so plainly into his pale flesh.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx       

**“Oh hey, I had a night I had a day, I did one million stupid things, I said one billion foolish things, I'm not okay, I got a baseball bat beside my bed to fight off what's inside my head, to fight off what's behind my meds, I'm lonely; lost in pain.**

**It's alright, it's okay, it's alright, it's okay, you're not a monster, just a human and you made a few mistakes. It's alright, it's okay, it's alright, it's okay, you're not gruesome, just human and you made a few mistakes, It's alright, oh, it's okay...**

**I don't wanna know who I am 'Cause heaven only knows what I'll find, I don't wanna know I'm not capable of coming out alive, I don't wanna see what's inside, I think that I would rather be blind, I don't wanna know I'm not capable, I'm capable.” – ‘It’s Alright’ – Mother Mother**

Percival tried to control his perturbed reaction when his younger partner silently, willingly removed his worn old white shirt and revealed what lay beneath. Of course, he had seen most of the wounds before, though thankfully the horrendous, possessive bite marks and signs of strangulation were long gone, but what remained was still shocking to behold even for someone as experienced as him in the field of pain. The most notable marks aside from the lingering traces of burns and lashes that had left thin, barely noticeable white lines against his pale skin, were the newly emblazoned black-red lines of Grindelwald’s mark and the angry silver burns across his left arm. He could have been wrong, but he could’ve sworn that they silver spirals had _spread_ \- not just encasing Newt’s arm up to the shoulder, but instead now wrapping around his upper chest just about touch the base of the Deathly Hallows design. Almost as if the clearly enchanted metal was reaching out to caress it, carving its path in a painful looking way. 

Percival didn’t to do it consciously, but he found his hand drawn inexorably out to trace the damage with a featherlight touch, careful of hurting his jumpy companion but still inquisitive beyond control. He felt Newt flinch under his fingertips and was about to withdraw when he felt the magizoologist lean into the touch and he became a bit bolder with his movements, fingers brushing against the ridges the metal formed in his skin and following the patterns of the design up to where it met the burned outline before pausing and his eyes met Newt’s inquisitively. The redheaded man’s were reluctant at first to meet his, seeming to struggle in the way they often did to meet eyes that probably still reminded him of past horrors and as it often did, he felt his stomach clench in guilt at what had been done to Newt using his face. “What is this Newt, really? And why didn’t you tell me it had… grown?”

Newt blinked and glanced, seemingly unwillingly at his own chest, unique sea-blue eyes noting the changes to it with apparent bemusement. “I didn’t really notice it at first but even when I did, I didn’t want to mention any of it because… well, there wasn’t anything to be done about it.”

“What do you mean?”  Percival frowned and Newt sighed.

“I’m you’ve probably guessed something about this by now, you’re observant – being an Auror and all.” He chuckled nervously and refused to meet his gaze still, Percival didn’t laugh but raised a challenging brow at him; he knew a stalling tactic when he heard one and after what he just witnessed, he wasn’t going to let Newt’s naturally aversive nature deter him now.

“Very perceptive of you in turn to notice that. Now elaborate if you please.” His tone was purposefully dry and sarcastic, and Newt flushed slightly, thumbs twiddling with one another in his lap again before he sighed, relenting slightly, shoulders slumping more.

“Sorry, I uh, I guess I should start with the blood-pact.” He paused, breathing deeply through his nose once before meeting Percival’s gaze cautiously and the Auror made sure to keep his own open and calm. It seemed to help Newt a little as he relaxed a fraction. “You know that Albus and Gel- Grindelwald made a blood-pact when they were young men?” Percival nodded in affirmation. “It-…It’s not really my place to discuss the… uh circumstances of it, I don’t think, but you’d be right in your assumption that they were close – closer than brothers he once said to me, and it was made in the intention so that they wouldn’t have to ever have anyone else get hurt in the conflict between them.” Newt released a bitter, chest jerking chuckle that left Percival wincing at the hollowness of it. “At least that’s how Albus intended it, I think, but anyway, you also know that I managed to get the binding pendant for the pact to Albus after what happened in Paris.”

Percival nodded again, silently encouraging him to continue whilst repressing a shudder at the images of what had occurred in that Morgana-damned tent and instead focussing on Newt’s stilted, hesitant, though slowly strengthening words as he wove his story. “And I’m sure that you also know that Albus found a way to break it – by passing it off to a living host.” He paused, breathing steadily though shakily. “What you may not have been told was that Grindelwald had decided, by the time you and Albus came to Nurmengard, that I was apparently the _perfect host_ for it. I think Albus had thought about the possibility – told me as much later, but it was Gellert that initiated the process, with this.” He said, holding up his left arm and Percival nodded yet again, remembering how Newt’s arm had been wreathed in dripping, staining crimson when he and the rescue contingent had arrived.

“It wasn’t really either of their faults looking back – both of them expected me to die in the process. Albus was… reluctant but I c-couldn’t… I couldn’t just let them continue on like that forever. I thought I’d be doing them and the world in general a favour by removing the obstacle from between them ending it, but I guess it was pretty foolish of me.” He shook his head in that uncomfortable mirthless humour, eyes pressing closed momentarily.

“I wouldn’t usually call it foolish to try to do the right thing, but in this case, I can only assume that something went wrong as you’re not dead.”        

Newt tilted his head as if unsure whether to agree or disagree at the questioning statement. “Well it didn’t go wrong exactly, but definitely not what any of us were expecting.” He tapped nervously on the silver on his forearm in a random seeming, reflexive pattern with impatient nails. “It… tested me, put me through… a lot, I couldn’t say what exactly, but when it was over, I was permanently… linked to both Albus and Gellert. I had become the new host. A living host. Something that shouldn’t have been possible but… here I am.”

Percival swallowed, frowning slightly, brows furrowing “What exactly does this mean for you Newt? How does this cause… whatever the hell I just saw?”        

“Every night since the bond was passed over to me, I’ve had dreams; been linked to Grindelwald. He’s been drawing me into his cell – where he’s being kept, and my mind sort of just stays there until I wake up again.”

Percival’s brows knitted further, and he felt aghast at the implications of Newt’s words. “You’ve been stuck in Grindelwald’s cell with him every night since you we got you away from him? And you didn’t think to mention this?”

“I didn’t see any reason to worry you with things you couldn’t change – it would only make unneeded tension between us and… I was just… well… I mean I was- am enjoying the time I spend with you. I c-care very much about you, Percival, and I didn’t want to ruin anything between us because of what _he_ was doing.”   

Percival’s heart wrenched in his chest and he gently reached over to coaxingly stroke his thumb across Newt’s prominent cheekbone, tracing the sharp lines of his features and guiding his face around meet him. “Newt, it doesn’t matter if I can’t do anything about it or not. I would have been there for you just so that you knew that whatever that bastard said or did wasn’t true. That he couldn’t hurt you by isolating you like this. You’re not alone, sweetheart.”    

Newt ducked his head slightly into the grip, pressing his full, pink lips to Percival’s palm in a brief kiss before daring to meet his gaze again, sad Scamander-blue eyes swimming. “I-… I guess I knew that you’d say that and that was why I couldn’t tell you.”

Percival frowned, confused “What do you mean?”

Newt subtly leant away from the grip, his arms coming up to wrap around his bare midriff, a shudder running through him like a wind rustling the last leaves of a nearly bare tree. “After what I’ve done, I suppose I… I didn’t feel like I deserved you to be so sympathetic.”

“What have you done that you think would make you not deserve kindness?” He asked in a much calmer tone than his roiling brain felt. Newt’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed spasmodically, eyes reverting to fix on his lap again.

“I encouraged him… I carried on talking to him even though I knew it was a bad idea. It just got so difficult to ignore him, especially when he always seemed to know _just_ what to say to get under my skin. The bond didn’t help nor did the fact that he’d been in my head plenty of times before – he can always tell if I’m trying to hide something from him and that just makes him pursue it all the more. It was alright I suppose when it first started because he couldn’t speak, but then I managed to make the mistake of giving him a way in and it just got worse from there…”

Newt trailed off and Percival found himself gripping Newt’s hand harder than he meant to, fingers tracing up his wrist absently – not knowing whether he should interrupt or just let Newt find his own pace. He was more used to barking orders and gaining instant responses from people – Newt was one of the few people he had encountered that prompted a softer approach - not only because of the more recent fragility of his nature but because he didn’t want to risk scaring Newt away with behaviour that would remind him too much of Grindelwald. The idea that the bastard had been tormenting Newt even after they had supposedly saved him from the dark wizard – for _months_ – unrealised, it tore a new hole in his usually stoic exterior. After a while Newt raised his head again from its contemplation of his own battered boots and met Percival’s again with apology written into every feature of his face.

“He has been showing me things – memories and things I think he’s learnt from some outside connection. It was how I found Henry, how I knew he was really still imprisoned, how I knew he was planning an attack on Theseus – the one that hurt Tina instead. He kept on offering me information in return for me continuing to speak with him. He even left me alone for a while; during July, he let me sleep properly for nearly a whole month, but I knew it wouldn’t last long.” Percival nodded, remembering the time during the previous month when the young magizoologist had seemed perkier and more open – up until shortly before the book signing anyway and he guessed that was when Grindelwald had reinitiated the contact. But the begrudging gratitude that lay in Newt’s tired tone when he spoke of being _allowed_ to sleep stoked anger in Percival’s chest – at the very idea that the fucker had put him in a state where he was grateful for something as simple a necessity as sleep… it was petty cruelty of the highest order.

“But what exactly just happened? From what I’ve seen, you haven’t had an effect on the real world in these… dreams up until now. You were on fire, Newt, literally ablaze when I came down. I heard an explosion and came to investigate. The shed was blown apart and you were writhing about in these silver flames with your arm in the air like someone was trying to pull the blasted thing clean off. Was it Grindelwald? Did he do something?” 

Newt shuddered, curling even in more on himself, blinking rapidly. “It- it started off pretty normally, he was just being his usual irritating self, but then realised that we had talked about… well, what he did to you, and of course that caught his attention straight away.” His voice was bitter again, eyes apologetic and darting about nervously. “Started making jabs about our… relationship and about you and I was stupid to let it get to me but I… let him in again when he tried to show me memories of him as a younger man… how he looked when you uh, um, took him um home.” He flushed bright scarlet under his dusting of freckles and whilst Percival felt the stirrings of guilt and shame stirring in his gut, he certainly didn’t blame the magizoologist for anything that Grindelwald had done or said to him. He was a notoriously manipulative bastard and he wasn’t surprised that even someone as good-hearted as Newt had been drawn into his games. Percival squeezed Newt’s hand again, encouraging silently.

“I… we both got drawn in to the memories more than I think he ever meant to show me, but I saw…him and Albus… I s-saw-…it d-doesn’t m-matter.” He stuttered, cutting himself, taking a deep breath and shuddering before continuing. “I don’t know what came over me, but I tried to touch – to _comfort_ him… and suddenly found that I _could_ do it and terrified me.” Tears were shining unshed in his eyes now and Percival could feel him shuddering so violently that he was worried the slim frame might not be able to withstand such tremors, wrapping an arm around his bare shoulders and feeling surprised to find them alarmingly warm. There was a light sheen of sweat shining on his pale, creamy skin that made concern curl through the Auror at what it could mean, he softly tugged the shirt out of Newt’s tightly clutching hands and wrapped it loosely around his shaking shoulders.

“He saw what I was doing with my arm, the marks, to just make it all go away… but it didn’t work and he wouldn’t stop _talking_.” He jolted as though shocked, curling his head over, wrapping his arms around his knees and drawing them up onto the cot in a tight, protective ball. Percival pulled him closer, wrapping the ball of trembling Brit into his arms and holding on tightly for which Newt seemed to be grateful, as is he was worried that he would drift away without such a solid anchor keeping him in place.

“What was he saying?” Percival asked softly, not insistent but prompting him gently.

“H-he- he was going on about how he thought my trying to t-touch him meant we’re-… meant we _belonged_ together. It wasn’t the first time he’s said such… ridiculous things but the fact that I’d been able to make a physical connection… the thought that he could try to _touch_ me again… I sort of lost it.” He shuddered harder before stilling, right hand reflexively going up to brush to his neck absently. “He tried to t-touch- to touch and I- I h-hit him… I hit him.” He barked out a slightly hysterical laugh that Percival couldn’t help but mirror at the thought of Newt – gentle, awkward, peaceful Newt - hitting anyone. Especially the idea of Newt hitting Grindelwald, that he had in some small way gotten some recompense for all the unspeakable things he had done; not only to Newt but to Percival and to wizard-kind in general. 

“I can’t imagine that went over well.”  

Newt huffed out an amused, slow breath “No, no I can’t imagine it did, though I can’t really be sure till he wakes up or rather till I fall asleep, I suppose.”

“You knocked him out? With one punch?” Percival asked, perplexed. Then where did the grip and fire come from? 

Newt held up his left arm with an almost abusive shake “Dunno how but I… channelled all our magics through this – Albus’, Gellert’s and mine too I’d wager, though I doubt that’d make much of a difference compared to the other two really.” He shrugged hopelessly, nails brushing brusquely along the marks but not in the same violent way Percival had noticed before; more like an oddly scolding touch. “That was what the fire was I expect, or at least what came before it anyway. Albus must’ve felt the tremor cause he turned up in the cell and had to recast the wards on Grindelwald. I broke them…along with his jaw.” He looked sheepish.   

“You broke the wards? So he’s loose?” Percival asked, alarmed at the potential ramifications of Newt’s small victory, he was relieved when Newt shook his head.

“No, Albus redid the wards while he was still unconscious, so I think its safe, for now at least, but that was when I think the fire must’ve started. I was trying to get _these out_.” He gestured to his left arm with both still clutched tightly around his knees and Percival’s worried eyes were drawn to the torn-up skin that still slowly leaked blood down the Magizoologist’s arm. The warm liquid was soaking gradually into his brown trousers, but Newt didn’t really seem to be aware of it beyond the point he was making with his narrative. “Albus tried to stop me and I think I might’ve burned him… it _felt_ like I had and that was what woke me up.” He looked through his coppery-blonde fringe at Percival, blue-green eyes seeking out confirmation and forgiveness for something that didn’t require it.

“Newt, none of this is your fault. Don’t feel any guilt for retaliating against that bastard – he deserves much worse and you didn’t even mean to do it. It’s not your fault that your professor is using you for his own gains or that he’s failed in the one thing he promised he would do for you. He should have been more careful, and I hate to say it, but I did warn you about him. From what you’ve told me, he has just sat back and watched while Grindelwald does whatever the hell he wants to you.” Percival’s tone was trembling with barely contained anger and he looked at Newt with a firm, imploring ferocity – begging him to understand the truth of the situation. Newt looked conflicted and shook his head, loosening his grip on his knees and gathering his gangly legs up under to in order to stand. He ran a shaky hand through his messy hair again, sending strands flying off in haphazard ways, his sea-blue eyes were shining and though it was more encouraging than the previous blankness from when Newt had first awoken, it was somehow also still disturbing.

“It’s not his fault – I was the one who made the decision not to tell him about the fact he failed to replace the silencing charms on Gellert. He can’t do anything about the bond, and I don’t blame him for not foreseeing what would happen after the blood-pact was made a part of me. I doubt _anyone_ could’ve predicted that would happen – its so bloody ridiculous I can understand why he thought I wouldn’t have to deal with any of this.” His voice was tense, protective even, but Percival could see the doubt and hurt lingering in his eyes, in the slight slump of his bare shoulders under the littering of scars. The Auror stood to face Newt, not touching him but pinning him in place with a stern, imploring gaze.  

“Newt, damn it, you are allowed to acknowledge the faults of others without being a bad person. Your _friend_ did something wrong and its okay to admit that – it doesn’t mean that you value their friendship any less, it just means that you’re capable of recognising when they’ve hurt you. Dumbledore has a responsibility to limit the damage he does to you through his actions whether you believe it or not. He got you into this mess in the first place and he owes you the basic courtesy of stopping his psychotic ex from tormenting you for _months_ on end.”

“But-” Newt’s face crumpled slightly, ducking his head with arms hanging loose at his sides now. “I don’t blame him. I know that it’s difficult to understand but I honestly think that until now he’s been just as lost as I am, but he suffers from the knowledge and power that usually would mean he has all the solutions. He doesn’t know what to do about it and I’m not going to let my wellbeing be what forces him to make a decision he doesn’t want to make.” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper and his eyes were beseeching. “I don’t want anyone else’s death on my conscience – even someone like Grindelwald.”

Percival understood in that moment and regarded Newt with sad, solicitous eyes, he reached forward and pulled him close again, standing as close as he dared. He felt the young magizoologist shudder at first before he seemed to deflate in his grip and softly placed his own arms around Percival, fisting slightly in his jacket. He felt the tickle of Newt’s soft coppery hair on his face as the younger man leant his head against his shoulder, folding over the Auror’s solid form and evening the height difference between them in his defeat. “It’s alright, sweetheart, it’s okay, I’m sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“You’re not angry with me?” He felt Newt’s lips move against his shoulder and he released a soft, exasperated breath before shaking his head minutely.

“Of course not, Newt. I have no reason to be.” He tilted his head to press his lips to Newt’s brow in a lingering kiss before murmuring against the too-warm skin. “But please, please know that you can tell me anything – don’t assume my reactions before you tell me the truth. I’ve often been told I tend to surprise people.”

Newt huffed a laugh and angled his face into Percival’s lips, almost nuzzling against the touch, nose poking softly at the side of the Auror’s face. “Well you certainly surprised me. I honestly never thought you would ever be interested in someone like me in the first place – let alone… this.”

“And why would you ever think that?”

“Lots of reasons really, mostly because I just tend to annoy people.” Newt admitted softly chuckling with just the ghost of a redolent smile. “And you’re the Director of MACUSA’s security for another – me and laws don’t tend to mix very well a lot of the time.”

“Really, I hadn’t noticed.” Percival remarked dryly and this time Newt’s laugh blew the Magizoologist’s intoxicating scent further into his senses – a unique mix of earthy, woodsy smells, something reminiscent of woods after rainfall and traces of cinnamon. Though the last one was probably more to do with the numerous pastries that the newly married Kowalski’s had been plying him with lately. The scent still fit him though – warm, natural, slightly spicy and tantalising. It had been difficult to restrain himself around Newt over the months since they had begun spending large amounts of time with one another, but he had done so for both their sakes.

Being this close to Newt now, with his pale, creamy, adorably freckled skin and surprisingly lithely muscular body pressed up against him and inhaling his scent was doing things to Percival’s usually careful mind and he found himself pressing another kiss to Newt’s face, tracing down along from his forehead to his lips and not missing an inch of skin in-between. He heard a breathy giggle escape the magizoologist and took it as encouragement so went to claim Newt’s full pink lips in a passionate kiss. He could feel Newt squirming slightly underneath him but just as he was about to pull away, thinking he had gone too far for the Brit’s comfort he felt Newt moan quietly against his lips. The younger man surprised him when he pulled Percival closer in an unusually assertive manner, he grunted slightly in response, deepening the kiss so that his tongue was venturing between the Magizoologist’s lips.

“Newt! Blast it all. Newt!”

Percival growled under his breath as he heard the familiarly irritating tones of Theseus Scamander as well as the clattering of steps coming down the ladder and released his flushed magizoologist reluctantly, turning to face the poorly timed interruption. The elder Scamander was red-faced and his sleeves of his coat were only half on on one side, looking as if he’d rushed to get here and at first Percival’s paranoia told him that the smug British bastard had hurried here just to interrupt them, before realising that his fellow Auror had his wand drawn and was looking about frantically for threats. When his gaze fixed upon Newt standing half-naked just behind Percival and blushing all the way to his trouser waistline, he looked simultaneously relieved, embarrassed and irritated.

“Theseus _what_ are you doing here?” Newt practically squeaked, fumbling about for his shirt and hastily tugging the garment on and buttoning it, but then tutting under his breath as he realised that a large section of the left sleeve was bloodied, singed and torn. A wave of Percival’s hand had the damaged clothing mended even if the flesh beneath remained damaged, it earned him a softly grateful look from Newt and a suspicious glare from Theseus.

“What happened to your arm? What just happened?”

Newt bobbed his head before glancing up at his brother in a sideways look “Nothing you need concern yourself with, but what are you doing here?”

Theseus glared between them before sighing irritably “There was a massive spike of magical activity here not long ago. I would’ve been here sooner but we’re having some trouble at the Ministry that I couldn’t get away from straight away.”

Newt’s brows rose sceptically into his messy fringe as he regarded his brother “And how exactly did you know that? Have you been spying on me again Thee?”

The wizard in question flushed slightly, stance wilting very slightly but looking unrepentant. “Perhaps, but can you really blame me? Now I’ll ask you again, what the hell was that about?”

“Just had a bit of a mishap, it’s all fine, Thee.”        

Theseus threw a hand up in the air incredulously, running his wand-hand through his hair in exasperation and Percival couldn’t help but smirk very slightly. “ _Mishap_? Mishap, Newt? are you bloody serious? The level of magic I just detected was enough to demolish the whole damned Ministry building and then some! Do you really expect me to believe that it was nothing significant? What the hell did you do?” 

Newt shifted uncomfortably but managed a sheepish grin as he regarded Theseus through his fringe. “It wasn’t all that dramatic really, just a small fire that I may have started in my sleep. No one was hurt and we’ve fixed what damage was done.”  

“For the love of-! Newt, I swear to Merlin if you don’t give me an honest answer some time soon, I’m going to decide that I won’t overlook any more of your law breaking and have this whole damned case impounded!”

Both Aurors flinched at the look that swept over Newt’s face at the threat; hurt, astonished but more importantly – furious. He glared at his rapidly paling elder brother and took a step forward, eyes narrowed sharply. “If we’re going to stop overlooking law-breaking then maybe I should mention to your colleagues all of the illegal, _highly invasive_ spells you’ve placed over me and my house?”

Theseus blanched and opened his mouth to either reply or deny but Newt cut him off quickly in a move that surprised everyone present. “You didn’t think I knew about them? I’m aware that you’ve been watching my every movement for years, Theseus, but I overlooked it because you’re my brother and I was sure you were just trying to look out for me in your own sanctimonious way.” He smirked slightly, ducking his head. “Well, that, and because I knew how to get around most of them.” The smile dropped and Percival couldn’t help but share in his momentary mirth. “But I draw the line at you threatening my creatures, brother or not, I won’t let you take them away from me in some petty attempt to bully answers out of me.”

“Newt, you know I didn’t- I wouldn’t do that. I just want you to trust me.” Theseus’s tone was beseeching but his natural pride was infecting his behaviour as he side-glared at Percival’s continued presence. The American folded his arms stiffly across his broad chest and regarded him evenly – the idiot had backed himself into this corner and Percival certainly wasn’t going to assist him in getting out of it. Granted, he could appreciate that sometimes Newt could be infuriating but even Percival knew that threatening Newt’s creatures was way out of line. 

Newt tilted his head, avoiding his brother’s gaze directly as he replied quietly. “Trust is a two-way street, as they say, and placing traces and wards on me and my home without telling me isn’t the best way to get me to trust you.”

“I- I’m sorry but I’m only trying to do what’s best for you, Newt.” 

“I’m a fully capable adult Theseus, I’m not a child anymore and I would appreciate if you treated me as such. I think I’ve had enough of people deciding my capability and actions for me already.” His eyes were serious, and Percival found himself nodding, fixing his gaze on the younger Scamander just as he knew the elder was.

“Newt, I- I’m sorry alright. I know you’re capable of protecting yourself, it’s just that half the time you seem to not bother doing it.” A shadow crossed across Theseus’ face and for the first time since he entered the hut he focussed solely on Newt, acting as if Percival and wasn’t there and the American didn’t intercede. “After what I saw that bastard put you through… I couldn’t bear the thought of anything like that happening again.”

Newt’s head was lowered so that his fringe partially shielded his eyes but from his vantage point, Percival could see the glimmer of tears again, they didn’t fall, but he felt the urge to gather the young magizoologist up in his arms again but refrained from doing so. He let the brothers have their moment even if he lingered so that he could make sure neither went too far, Newt was in a vulnerable, apparently dangerous place right now and he didn’t trust Theseus to be tactful enough not to set off an unwanted reaction through his ignorance. It was Newt’s decision whether he wanted his brother to know about what he had just revealed to Percival but from his behaviour so far, the American gathered that he didn’t want that just yet.

“I’ll remove the wards if it makes you feel better but Newt, please promise me that you’ll take better care of yourself from now on.”

Newt’s lips twitched in a slight smile and he muttered under his breath “If _one_ more person says that today…” 

Theseus evidently wasn’t amused “I mean it, Newt, no stupid risks and no running off on your own headlong into danger.”

“I don’t run _headlong_ into it, more incidentally… at an angle maybe.”

The look that both Aurors speared him with made the young magizoologist sigh and nod, shoulders slumping slightly. “Alright, but I can’t promise that if any creatures are in danger that I’ll just sit by and watch.”

Theseus sighed but nodded too, replacing his wand in its holster at his side. “I wouldn’t expect any less.”

“Good.” He paused before asking a bit hesitantly “What exactly was going on at the Ministry?”

Theseus looked instantly on guard and both Newt and Percival immediately picked up on it if the suspicion in Newt’s gaze was anything to go by. “Nothing too serious. Paperwork.  Lots of boring, dull, deskwork.”

Percival supressed a snort of laughter at the pathetic diversion attempt and Newt just raised a sceptical eyebrow at his brother. “Really? Paperwork so important that it delayed your massively overdeveloped sense of brotherly protectiveness? I wasn’t sure if there was anything on this earth that could do that.” This time Percival wasn’t able to supress his mirth and he and his partner shared in a quiet chuckle at Theseus’ reddening face.     

“Well, it may have had something to do with the Obscurial boy being brought over to England.”

Both men tensed at that, Percival in grave apprehension and Newt in disbelief and concern “Credence is being brought here?”

“Near enough, he’s going to be kept in a safe house outside of the city so that if he… reacts badly then he’ll be less likely to hurt anyone.”

“The Ministries finally decided he wasn’t as much of a threat as they made him out to be then?” Newt’s tone was tense but also seemingly relieved and Theseus tilted his head in affirmation with a slightly fond smile gracing his lips. 

“Yes, its all down to Tina really, she’s been fighting for him non-stop and with only one incident so far that left no one actually hurt she managed to convince them to let someone tutor him.”

“Who?” Newt asked and Theseus paused significantly, as if uncertain before replying.

“Professor Dumbledore. I contacted him a few days ago and he finally got back to us early this morning.”

Not realising how much time had passed since he came down into the case, Percival pulled out his pocket watch and realised that it was nearly midday already. They had apparently been talking for hours. Morgana’s Mercy, how had he lost track of the time so dramatically with Newt? It was alarmingly easy to do.

“Uh, have you, um seen him since then?” Newt swallowed, looking apprehensive.  “Dumbledore, I mean.”

“Not yet, he said he’s not going to start sessions with Credence until the day after tomorrow as he’s busy teaching until then.”

“Ah, right, okay then.” Newt murmured, looking mildly relieved and Percival thought he could understand why, he moved forwards and wrapped a supportive arm around the slimmer man’s waist. Newt seemed to melt into his side, the tension leaking away a bit and Percival found himself smiling softly at the other man – glad that he could offer some comfort when it was needed. Both were aware of Theseus’ disapproving stare but for once the man managed to school it into near-tolerance and did not comment, merely looked about the shed as if to check for damage or unforeseen danger before seeming to deflate and heading back towards the ladder.

He paused however as Newt’s voice sounded again “Would I be able to see him? Credence that is?”

Both Aurors fixed him with a speculative, incredulous stare and Theseus rubbed a tired hand over his forehead before pinching the bridge of his nose with an exhale. “Newt, did you or did you not, just promise me that you’d try to stay _out_ of trouble?”           

Newt smiled sheepishly but raised a challenging, faintly amused look to his brother. “If it wasn’t safe to be around Credence right now, I’d doubt you would let Tina near him, would you?” Theseus opened his mouth but looked unsure how to voice his complaints and Newt pressed on. “Besides, I’m the only one of us with any real experience of Obscurus am I not? Technically I still work for the Beast department so you could call me a consultant if you needed an official reason for me to be there.”

“But I wouldn’t be able to escort you, there’s too much going on at the moment and Tina has been making good headway with him, but I’m not sure if a visitor is the best idea.”

Percival smirked at the light tone and logic his partner was using as it clearly irritated his officious brother no end though he himself also felt stabs of exasperation at Newt’s tenacity. “I’ll go with him, Scamander if that makes you feel any better about it.”

“Not really.” He snapped and Percival offered him a thin, sardonic smile.

“Theseus, I want to make sure that he knows he’s not alone. I think one of the best ways to make him feel safe and confident in his ability to control the Obscurus will be to make him feel like he’s a part of the wizarding community and if he can’s attend a proper school or live amongst magic-folk, then allowing people to visit him might be a better way of achieving that.” His tone was soft but knowledgeable and Theseus seemed to recognise the sense in his words as he nodded after some clear deliberation and sighed heartily.

“Fine, a _quick_ visit but at the first sign of trouble I want you out of there.” Newt looked relieved and nodded eagerly before breaking out of Percival’s grip and hastening towards the ladder, moving past Theseus and calling back down. “I’ll be just a moment, I just need to get changed and then we can go!”

“Now?” Theseus called but Newt was already out of earshot and he shook his head exasperatedly before shooting a glare at Percival who stood with a smirk on his lips and arms folded.  

“If anything happens it’s on you, Graves.”

“Newt’s right you know, he’s more capable than you give him credit for, and I think this will be good for him.”

“Oh, what would you know about what’s good for him?” Came the snappy reply.

“It could be just me, but it seems that he copes better when he’s helping others, be it his creatures or people he cares about, but I think it helps him feel better. More normal.”

“But what’s happened to him _isn’t_ normal.” 

“No, no it isn’t, but as he’s said before, treating him like fine-china will just make him feel more breakable and take him further away from the kind of life he’s trying to get back to.”

“But he’s never _been_ normal – never had what you could call an average life. Makes it hard to tell when something actually _is_ the matter.”

“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Newt is unique in that he sees the bad in others and still wants to help them.” He paused, tilting his head, checking that the magizoologist in discussion wasn’t returning before continuing. “I think that he picks up strays because they remind him of himself, he sees the abused souls and does all that he can to help because he didn’t get that same love and assistance when he needed it most. Gives them what he never got.”

Theseus’ eye twitched and Percival got the distinct feeling that he may have accidently trodden on something here and the elder Scamander stepped close, face inches away as he hissed. “Watch it, Graves, you have no idea what you’re on about.”

“I apologise if I’ve made unfair assumptions but I’m merely making judgements based upon what I’ve observed from your and Newt’s behaviour.”

“Well keep your damn observations to yourself. Don’t make the mistake of assuming that just because Newt has decided to trust you for some reason that you actually know him.”

“I’m not trying to imply that you don’t look after your brother, Scamander. Its very clear that you do, and I admire you for that. You’re a good man behind all the pig-headedness and pompousness.” He released a breath of laughter at the stunned look on the others face. “I would appreciate it if you would accept that I’m not the bad guy here. Newt has much more real problems to deal with without your obvious disapproval of how he’s trying to live his life. I think it would help if you just accepted his decisions and butted out of his life a bit.”

“You’ve got some nerve, Graves, but you have a point.” His tone was reluctant and stiff but genuine.  “Just don’t screw this up…. And maybe be a bit subtler with all the handsy behaviour in public alright?”

Percival chuckled slightly but nodded again “Sure, Scamander, whatever you say. Might do everyone involved a favour if you stopped invading his house unannounced though.”  

Theseus brows creased briefly, and he glanced back at the ladder before back to Graves. “Do you have any idea what’s going on between him and Dumbledore?”

Percival laughed bitterly “Trust me, I’ve been wondering the exact same thing for a long time. If I ever figure it out, I might let you know.”

The other Auror released a slight smirk of his own before turning and exiting the case, Percival cursorily glanced around the case once more before doing the same. Newt was bustling around with an odd, focused energy, seeming to be thriving on the distraction the impending visit was offering him, and Percival couldn’t help but smile as his nervous fingers fumbled with tying his bowtie and pushing past him to click the latches on his case shut, picking it up firmly. Theseus raised an eyebrow at the action but didn’t dare make the mistake of trying to stop him from bringing it with him, especially not after making the cringe-worthy, empty threat he did earlier.

“Ready?” Theseus asked impatiently, clearly eager for this to be over and Newt straightened, brushing his blue coat down a little where dust and Mercy knew what else resided on the sleeves before nodding.

They all made their way to the border of Newt’s house’s wardings just outside of the front door and Theseus being the only one who knew exactly where they were going, offered an arm to Newt who took it before clasping Percival’s with the other. There was the familiar, tube-squeezing sensation and a blur of darkness before the three men found themselves outside a small cottage in the middle of a semi-shaded area of forest. The cottage looked innocuous to the naked eye, but Percival suspected that even someone completely oblivious to magic would have felt the strong warding that resided around it. Being as magically attuned as he was, the American Director could feel the tremor in the air and even see the very slight shimmer in the air spanning from about twenty feet away from the structure, he could sense that whichever Ministry officials had warded this place had done a very thorough job. He turned to eye Theses as the man began to temporarily part the wards for them to enter and commented in a genuinely impressed tone. “Your work, Scamander?”

Theseus glanced briefly at him before continuing his wand movements and nodding, Percival whistled lowly beneath his breath and offered a nod of approval. “Not bad." Newt sent him a questioning look behind his brother’s back as Theseus led the way through the shimmer, all three sensing the cold wash of magic as they passed through behind him. The American merely shrugged at Newt and he smiled softly, very slightly before his face returned to its usual muted seriousness, blue eyes turning apprehensive.

They approached painted red front door and Theseus knocked a deliberate, likely ward releasing pattern onto the wood before it swung open and he gestured for the two to enter. Newt did so without hesitation and Percival followed after a moment, Theseus caught his arm just as he crossed the threshold and he looked at him surprised. “I’ve got to get back to the Ministry to deal with some... other issues that have arisen but if anything happens here, I will know about it.” He gave him a significant lingering look before calling to Newt who was just down the hall, awkwardly hesitating by one open doorway. “Tina’s just through there and to the right is Credence’s room, be careful, would you?”

“Always am.” Newt replied, not turning back before he followed the directions and Percival heard the low murmur of voices a few seconds after. Theseus closed the door firmly behind him before Percival followed Newt’s path, finding himself in a small, comfortable, oddly homely looking living room. It was lit by the sun that had managed to filter through the windows and treetops outside, as well as by one or two lanterns that resided above the unlit fireplace. Tina was speaking with Newt by the closed door to another room just past a pair of comfortable looking though hideously floral-patterned armchairs and both glanced up at his entrance – Newt looking awkward and Tina even more apprehensive than usual.

“Mr Gr- I mean Percival, I didn’t realise you’d be coming here too.”

“Neither did I until a few minutes ago.” He replied assuredly and she nodded but bit her lip, looking torn.

“Something wrong?”

It was Newt who replied, glancing at him through his fringe with a sheepish expression on his face. “We were just saying that maybe it would be best if you stayed outside for a bit.”

“Why?” He asked, brows furrowing before he noted Newt’s rapid blinking; it was something he had noticed the younger man to do if he was trying to dispel unpleasant memories. Usually ones that were of things that were done to him using the visage of the man in front of him. He hadn’t done that in some time and it suddenly clicked in Percival’s head. “Oh, you’re concerned that he’ll see me as the man Grindelwald pretended me to be – someone who would hurt him.”

Newt and Tina both looked apologetic, the latter averting her gaze but the former meeting it softly. “I just think that after what he saw Grindelwald do and not knowing that you were ever a real person, he may react badly if he saw you. Tina’s managed to calm him and keep him relatively happy for the time being, but I don’t think seeing you would help things.”

“No, you’re right, I understand.” Percival replied softly, feeling guilt and rage eat at the familiar spot inside his gut at the thought of all the innocent people Grindelwald had harmed using his identity. It was not fair that the boy in next room should see him as an enemy before he even really met him, but he knew that his friends were right. The last thing Percival wanted to do was cause trouble for someone he had already failed once by allowing himself to be captured and impersonated in the first place. He nodded solemnly to Newt who offered him a quick, grateful smile in return. “I’ll be right out here if you need me.”

“Thank you, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He muttered with a rather unconvincing smile and Tina knocked once on the door, hearing a soft reply before they both disappeared into the room and closed the door behind them carefully. With nothing better to do, Percival perched himself onto the nearest hideous armchair and picked up a nearby copy of the Daily Prophet.

If there was one thing that Newt was capable of doing, it was befriending dangerous, volatile creatures.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Credence had grown a few inches in height since he had last seen him, his hair had grown out of the rather unfortunate missionary style haircut that his foster-mother had forced upon him and he had gained a little weight onto his previously painfully slim frame. Newt smiled inwardly at the thought that Tina had likely been responsible for the positive changes and glanced briefly before back to where Credence was sat slightly hunched, head bowed on a chequered bedspread. Credence looked up at their entrance, impossibly deep, dark eyes seeming to light up slightly when he saw Tina but hazing over in confusion as he saw Newt and seemed to tense. Newt placed his case down carefully beside him before withdrawing his wand, making Credence tense further, eyes flicking nervously to Tina for reassurance before following Newt’s movements as he leant down and unlatched the case, deliberately placing the wand inside the case and clicking it shut again. Having seen what his abusive, religious fanatic of a ‘mother’ had done to him and guessing at Grindelwald’s treatment of him with nauseating clarity, he knew that the young man would likely be very wary of attack, as he had been in the subway tunnels back in New York. Newt deliberately discarded his wand as a sign reminiscent of what he had done then – showing him he wasn’t a threat, of course, with the still present itch and pain in his left arm, he knew that he no longer needed the instrument to be dangerous, but Credence didn’t need to know that. There was no chance that Newt would ever hurt him purposefully; it just wasn’t in his nature.

“Hello, Credence.” He said, straightening and offering a small, awkward though sincere smile “My name is Newt Scamander, I’m not sure if you remember but we have met before. In New York.” Credence nodded, eying him warily but seeming to decide that he wasn’t an immediate threat and edging along the bed slightly. Newt swallowed, not moving closer but maintaining visual contact with the sullen, silent, abused young man “And again, in Paris more recently.” He flushed very slightly at the unpleasant memory, thinking of how he must have looked to the Obscurial in his battered, caged and abused state but blinking past the recollection, nails digging through his sleeve in an attempt to replicate the impulsive digging motions but consciously fighting against it at the same time.

“Yes.” His voice was hoarse and hesitant, almost inaudible but Newt still heard it and waited patiently as he sensed the younger man was going to continue. “Did you- are you… recovered…?”

Newt jolted slightly in surprise but nodded with a soft smile “Just fine thank you, Credence, as well as can be expected. I can’t imagine that your time since we last met has been much better?”

“Miss Goldstein has been very kind to me.” He murmured, eyes moving nervously up to Tina for a moment and she smiled softly, sadly at him 

“I don’t think that’s what he meant, honey.”

Credence ducked his head submissively and flushed slightly at the term of endearment, muttering “No, no, of course not, sorry.”

“It’s okay, Credence, I just meant that I was aware of your search for your family, of your friend being taken away from you and what that man at the circus did to those creatures. I can’t imagine he was much kinder to you.”

“Anyone who isn’t a wizard wasn’t worth his time unless they knew how to do what they were told.” He said the words with an accustomed bitterness, as if he had only recently grown acclimatised to being allowed such rebellion, as minor as it was. “The one thing Ma taught me was how to obey orders.” Newt flinched slightly and took a very small step forward, it caught Credence’s attention immediately and Newt halted.

Tina offered the American youth a tight smile and said in a soothing tone. “You don’t have to live like that anymore. You’re free.” 

Credence looked faintly, repressed amused and shook his head slightly at the same time Newt shot a slightly disapproving look at her. “Don’t pretend, Tina, he may be away from the Circus and the Second-Salamers but the Ministry is just another prison really.” Tina opened her mouth agape at Newt as he turned from her to meet Credence’s gaze directly who seemed just as surprised. “But the difference between them and here is that you have people here who want to take care of you.Tina will look out for you and if you don’t have any objection, I would be glad to do the same.”

He slowly, carefully, with her very deliberate steps came around to crouch in front of where Credence had hunched himself over the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the floorboards until the magizoologist came into view. As blunt as the words he was using were, he knew that it would do the young man no good to lie to him or offer blind placations; Newt had suffered enough and helped suffering creatures enough to know that by now. “Credence, I promise that I will never lie to you.” He offered a soft, plain look at him – not imploring, disapproving or manipulating like he knew Grindelwald, or his adoptive mother had likely done. Newt did not try to touch him, knowing that would just be massively counterproductive - he simply waited until Credence found the courage and inclination to meet his eyes and when he did, he looked puzzled but there was a glimmer of distant hope in his dark eyes.

“Why- why are you doing this for me?” He asked, genuinely confused, eyes darting about uneasily but repeatedly flickering back to Newt, not eye contact – neither of them attempted that, but at least looking at him without fear or suspicion. “I nearly killed you and your friend in New York.”

Newt felt his own brows furrow in confusion slightly, glancing back at Tina momentarily but realising that Credence likely would have referred to her by name if he meant her. “Friend?”

“Mr-…Mr Graves, you w-were w-with him, trying to p-protect him even after he attacked you, weren’t you? Is that what you do then? Protect monsters?”

Newt released a slightly hysterical huff of bitterly amused air before replying with a soft smile “Some might say that, yes, but no, in this case I wasn’t protecting the man you knew as Mr Graves. And you most certainly aren’t a monster, Credence. I told you before that I’ve met another of your kind – a young Sudanese girl who was punished and abused for her magic until she developed a weaker version of what’s inside of you now.” He licked his dry lips slightly as Credence’s full attention was suddenly on him.   

“I remember…” He murmured, and Newt nodded before continuing in his usual stilting tone.

“It’s a very difficult thing to live with, but the mere fact that you are still alive today and able to contain it shows that you are utterly unique. If anyone can overcome such circumstances, I believe it to be you, Credence.

His head tilted and his eyes clouded before he asked “The girl… the girl you met who was… like me…did she survive? What happened to her?”

Newt felt guilt tug at his heart ay the memory and swallowed, feeling pressure build behind his eyes as he answered “She… she was eight years old when she died. I tried to help her, to remove the Obscurus from her body but… it killed her in the process. I tried to save her, but it was too strong… she was too young and-” He cut himself off, feeling his throat clogging and forced himself to take a deep breath before continuing in a firmer tone. “But that won’t happen to you, Credence, I made a grievous mistake by trying to sperate that girl from the Obscurus when I had very little experience with such things at the time. What’s inside of you now is powerful – more powerful than any Obscurus that’s ever been seen before but I think that’s the reason that you’re still alive. That and an astounding amount of willpower and a heart compassionate enough to limit its destruction. I know what happened in New York may feel like it was your fault but trust me, it was inevitable.”

He paused, gauging Credence’s reaction before continuing. “I believe that if you allow yourself to merge with the Obscurus occasionally, in regular, small, contained bouts whilst you are learning to control your magical gifts, then you may be able to live a long and full life.” He glanced back at Tina who was regarding him with wide, surprised though oddly admiring eyes before back to Credence again. “I can see that you already _have_ been controlling that and it’s makes me all the more sure that you can do this.”

He stood, straightening slightly though keeping his posture purposefully relaxed and offering another tentative smile “If you want to learn magic then I doubt you could ask for a better teacher than Professor Dumbledore. He taught me when I attended Hogwarts and I’m sure he’s very eager to meet you.”

“Me? Really? Why?” Credence looked baffled but his back had straightened slightly during Newt’s speech, head unbowed a bit in an encouraging manner.

“Because he is a very intelligent man who thrives upon a challenge.” Newt replied seriously before he feels a hazy smile cross his face and he releases an absent breath of laughter. “And because he’s a magnanimous, stubborn git who thinks he knows what’s best for everyone.”   

He heard the words leave his mouth abstractedly before he flushed bright red and ducked his head, wondering wherever the hell _that_ had come from. Newt heard Tina giggle slightly and noticed that Credence’s expression was split between usual subservient, nervous blankness and wondering amusement. “You’re- you’re not afraid of me, are you?” he asked after a few moments of silent regard and Newt’s smile dropped.

“No, not really.”

“Why? Most of those Ministry wizards were.”

Newt pondered telling him the real main reason before decided that the more comforting reason would be best – it was still true after all. “Because I trust that you can do this, Credence.”

“We both do.” Tina said softly, fondly from behind him and Credence looked oddly calm in that moment, almost relaxed. Newt inclined his head slightly towards him, deciding that it would be best if he didn’t crowd the younger man too much more on his first visit and headed for the door.

“Mr Scamander?” He turned with his hand on the doorknob to look back the Obscurial.

“Call me Newt.”

“Uh Newt… would you… would mind coming back for some of my lessons? With this Professor Dumbledore? If you have the time?”

Newt was flummoxed for a few seconds and Credence obviously took this as a no as his spine folded over again, as if trying to force himself out of existence again and Newt instantly interceded before he could get the wrong idea. “Of course, I can… if that’s really what you want?”

“I- I yes I do. You seem to know more about this than anyone and… you seem like you’re an alright guy.”              

Newt and Tina both released a nervous laugh at that and the former nodded, glancing at Tina for confirmation who seemed pleased with the development. “Then of course I will, it was nice seeing you again, Credence.”

The young American nodded jerkily, almost enthusiastically and Newt pulled the door open, smiling at the sight he got of Percival sat perched upon the very edge of one of the armchairs as if he was worried that ugly floral pattern would infect his pristine style if he sat there too long. He glanced up from his paper at the sound of doors and footsteps and rose to greet Newt but didn’t get the chance to do so as there was a loud hissing, roaring screech from behind the magizoologist. Newt didn’t even have time to turn as he heard a cry of panic and another of warning before he was sent flying through the air, he felt himself collide with something solid before the world swam black.                           


	17. Chapter 17

**“Under blue moon I saw you, so soon you'll take me, up in your arms, too late to beg you or cancel it, though I know it must be the killing time, unwillingly mine...**

**...In starlit nights I saw you, so cruelly you kissed me, your lips a magic world, your sky all hung with jewels, the killing moon, will come too soon.**

**Fate**

**Up against your will**

**Through the thick and thin**

**He will wait until**

**You give yourself to him.”**

**– ‘The Killing Moon’ – Echo and the Bunnymen**

Newt was sent crashing through the ceiling of the cell, slamming hard and dizzyingly into the floor below after seemingly doing a full three-hundred- and sixty-degree flip in the air before landing, forcing all the breath out of him. He was up on his feet in an instant and glancing about desperately for a way out that he knew wasn’t there and instead reluctantly fixed his gaze on his one hope of getting out of there and back to his friends. Percival was in danger. He had no doubt in his mind that the force that had slammed him out of the waking world and into this one, was Credence in his Obscurus form. It had been Newt’s fault for opening the door too wide and allowing the young man to catch a glimpse of Percival, he should have been more careful but now it was too late for regrets – all he could do now was find a way to wake up and get back to prevent Credence from killing Percival, if it wasn’t already too late. He knew that he was likely in danger too right now, he had seen the damage that an Obscurus could inflict on the human body and he felt no desire to experience it up close again – be it on his own body or on anyone else’s. Newt couldn’t blame Credence for being angry or distressed; from his viewpoint it would seem that Newt had come in claiming to be honest and willing to help him whilst the man he perceived to be evil stood just outside. He had to get back and explain to Credence that Percival wasn’t the man who had abused and manipulated him for his own purposes and that he hadn’t been lying to him.

With a heavy heart, he met the familiar mismatched eyes that were regarding him with surprise from the other side of the cell as the elder stood, if a little unsteadily, and made his way over to stand in front of the agitated magizoologist. His face was still singed, slightly reddened and lightly swollen around the jawline, but it was clear that Dumbledore must have exhibited some healing magic and care to it as the jawbone was no longer mis-set or broken by the looks of things. An assessment that was proven true as Gellert opened his mouth to speak and there was only the barest trace of slur or discomfort in his smooth, low voice. “I must admit that I’m surprised to see you again so soon.” He smirked in a lopsided manner that hinted to the deeper injury even if he hid it on the surface otherwise. “I would have thought that after your little…outburst you would resort to your futile attempts to abstain from sleep.”   

Newt glared, not feeling inclined to play his usual verbal games when his friends could potentially be dying right now. “Not asleep, Gellert – unconscious and if you don’t let me go soon, I doubt I’ll ever be coming back again.” His tone was harsh and demanding, urging the man to for once show some sort of mercy and let him go.

No such luck however, as he merely looked mildly amused and raised a sceptical white-blonde eyebrow. “Really Newton, so dramatic.”

Newt growled impatiently under his breath, running a hand brusquely through his dishevelled hair furiously. “Not really, I’m sure you don’t care if my friends die, but being as you seem to be keeping up the pretence of wanting _me_ alive, I think it might be in both of our interests if you just let me wake up so I can prevent my imminent death.”

He continued to look unhurried and regarded Newt with a calm, smug, goading looking stare “In no mood for pleasantries today, are we? Very well, I’ll be plain then. You haven’t exactly behaved in a manner that leaves me feeling an overabundance of generosity so I’ll ask you now; what would you be willing to do to be allowed the chance to protect your friends?”

Newt stared at him, incredulous that the man was trying to bargain with him while there were people’s lives at stake but honestly not all that surprised. _Why would you expect anything else?_ As much as he hated it, he reached for the only bargaining chip he thought might have some sway, feeling desperation claw at his throat as he forced the words out. “If you claim to care about me as much as you say you do, then surely that would be enough?”

Gellert’s brows raised higher into his mussed hairline and he tutted lightly before speaking with patronising challenge lacing his tone. His mismatched eyes were simultaneously shining like ice in winter sunlight and churning with the darkness of troubled, stormy waters. “Then where’s the harm in displaying a little of that affection for yourself, Newton? You said yourself that these things should be mutual, why not give a demonstration of that in return?”

Newt swallowed, throat feeling thick and lips dry. “What do you want?”

His eyes alit with that burning intensity, lips curving very slightly upward as he took a step forward, standing almost chest to chest with Newt. The younger man tensed, trembling along every inch of himself but he swallowed down his fear again and watched as Gellert’s lips moved to form two simple, yet disproportionately devastating words.                           

“A kiss.”

He flinched but forced himself to keep his ground and not back himself into a physical corner as he had done verbally, using his anger and desperation; his fear for his partner and his friend to steel his spine. Newt refrained from the instinct he felt encouraging him to claw his way out of this situation by resorting to using his silver left hand – it wouldn’t end well, it would likely just end with Gellert unconscious again and Newt still trapped here. He had to play along, and really what did it mean? Just one kiss to save himself, Tina and Percival? He didn’t have the time to think of a better solution so instead nodded numbly, jerkily, shamed eyes fixating on the other wizard’s dark-jacketed shoulder. There was no way he could look him in the eyes and do this.     

“Is that a yes, Newton? Do speak up.” His voice was teasing but also very slightly breathy, as if with delight and Newt flinched again before answering in as muted a tone as he could manage whilst still being heard.  

“Yes…”

Gellert looked at him expectantly and Newt inwardly caved just a little more as he realised that the man wasn’t going to make this easy on him – of course he wouldn’t – he was going to make Newt be the one to make the move. He supposed that he had to be because otherwise the other man would have already likely tried something by now… _or maybe he just wants you to be the one to make the decision. He wants enthusiasm._ Whilst he hated it, he knew that the voice’s usual insidious whisperings had a valid point, but either way it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that he got this over and done with quickly in the hopes that Percival and Tina might be still alive and moderately intact when he resurfaced. _Come on Newt, you don’t have time to be a coward, just do it. Do it now and you can deal with the consequences later when no one is in immediate danger from horrible death._ Alright, alright, point taken.

He took a quick breath in through his mouth and leaned in, lips hovering just in front of Gellert’s with a last sweet moment of fleeting resistance before he pushed himself forward. Once again, he channelled his desperation and fear into courage but this time also into what could be mistaken for enthusiasm; he knew that Gellert probably wouldn’t consider himself satisfied unless Newt did this properly and he wasn’t going to make the mistake of drawing this out further than needed through his hesitance. Newt pressed his lips firmly to the other wizard’s ducking his head to angle the kiss and feeling surprise when he found the lips softer and warmer than he had expected. Gellert’s hands and aura were so cold that he had expected them to be so, but they felt… normal he supposed. There was an unplaceable taste to them that left Newt curious and oddly wanting to explore more – like the tang in the air after a lightning strike, metallic and strangely intoxicating. Out of complete reflex and habit from his past kisses with Percival he reached a hand around to brace the back of Gellert’s neck, eyes tightly pressed closed and fingers finding a disturbing similarity to the way his partner’s head felt. He supposed distantly that it was because Gellert had likely cut his hair to resemble Percival’s during his impersonation and it had then grown at a similar pace to the Auror’s over subsequent months. Newt forcefully tried to push the similarities away and instead tried to control the hammering of his heart and the clouding of his mind by focussing upon the _differences_. No help there however, as it only served to remind him of everything the man he was currently lip-locking had done to him and to the world in general and it just made panic close his throat and freeze the subtle movements of his own chapped lips against Gellert’s.

The dark wizard clearly wasn’t satisfied with that and he let out a quiet growl under his breath that vibrated through Newt’s own lips and the next moment he found himself being pressed backwards into the nearest wall, back slamming into stone as the shorter man used his sturdier frame to direct the slight magizoologist. He didn’t fight back, he could tell that if he tried to pull back now that Gellert would just consider his end of the bargain unfulfilled and would likely keep him stuck here anyway. The thought fuelled his next move with more desperation that he converted to vigour – remembering _who_ and _what_ he was doing this for, the sooner Gellert was satisfied the sooner he could get out of here and save Percival. Newt pressed his lips harder, meeting the other’s in an almost violent movement, teeth catching the other’s bottom lip and pulling till he felt the coppery tang of blood on his tongue – intensifying the charged metallic taste of the older man. He felt Gellert’s hand come up to grip his wrists pushing them back above his head against the wall and the wizard’s more naturally dominant tendencies taking over as he took charge of the kiss.

Newt thought that he might have mumbled something against his lips but couldn’t hear the other’s words through the roaring in his ears, the overwhelming pounding of blood in his veins and the strange, charged tingling that shot through his veins not unlike the shocks that Gellert had once sent through him to cause pain. It was a strange contradiction of self-loathing, fierce determination and an unplaceable, uncontrollable need to just _linger_. The guilt and fear tainted hatred he felt churning inside him finally had an outlet as he met physically with the source of those emotions – it was almost as if by doing this he could simultaneously punish his own wrongdoings by submitting but also cause just a little pain in return. He heard himself moan, low and guttural from a long distance away and tug at the grip on his wrists, somewhat revelling in his lack of manoeuvrability and the firmer force with which Gellert pinned him. His nails digging slightly into the left and sending jolts between both men.

He could feel unwanted memories resurfacing with the prolonged contact and the familiarity of the scent surrounding him, but for once he could grasp onto something other than horror – he could clutch at the vague tendrils of pleasure with the excuse that it was for something better. There was no point in subjecting himself to further misery through the self-loathing that curled his insides, if it meant that he would be unable to help his friends when this was over – he would be no use to Percival as a shivering pathetic wreck.

The thought of what Credence could be doing right now eclipsed all else from his swimming, floating brain and he twisted his head violently away from Gellert, hearing a furious growl in response and the other wizard sinking his teeth possessively into Newt’s jawline, the corner of his lips, drawing blood. He gasped for breath and pulled on his wrists again, managing to choke out words between pants. “Gellert… stop… I need to go… now… I could be dying right now… I did what you asked… just let me save my friends.”

Gellert’s expression was caught between extreme exasperation and an insatiable seeming hunger before Newt tugged against the grip once more, muttering a quiet “Please.” The white-blonde wizard regarded him for long enough that Newt felt apprehension build in him tighter than ever, feeling sweat begin to bead around his temples, not knowing what he would do if the other refused. But then Grindelwald let go, stepping back with unidentifiable emotions swirling in his mismatched eyes and in the aura around him and Newt felt relief wash over him, un-pressing his back from the wall and releasing his breath in a slow, shaky hiss. The elder wizard turned his back to Newt, though the younger could see his shoulder move when he pressed a hand to his face, he wasn’t sure what the gesture meant and was almost hesitant to voice his request again. “Gellert...?”

“Yes, yes, you may go.” His voice was biting and oddly impatient, almost hurt even and Newt was almost tempted to step forward and offer some kind of reassurance before he stopped himself and reminded himself of exactly _who_ was standing in front of him. Instead he spoke softly again, fearful of further aggravating him lest he change his mind.        

“How do I-?”

Before the question was even out of his mouth, he felt the room flip out from beneath his feet in a reverse parody of his earlier entrance and he suddenly found himself lying on what felt to be musty carpet. His face was smushed up uncomfortably between the floor and the wall, one cheek pressed into a damp, warm sensation on the plaster while the carpet fibres sent an unpleasant taste into his mouth. His limbs were tangled around one another from where he had been thrown and it seemed as though he likely hadn’t been moved from where he collided with the wall after Credence barrelled into him. That either meant that everyone was too busy to have checked on him, they were all dead or that the passage of time moved differently within his head than it did in real life. He had no doubt that were any of his friends able they would have checked on him, this filled him with further panic and adrenaline, and he pushed his aching body up hastily to turn and assess the situation.

It was clear that Credence had certainly released his wrath upon the small cottage’s bedroom and living room as everything in view was smashed apart in a pattern familiar to him – wood splintered everywhere, pottery and glass shattered in shards across the cracked floor. The ugly rose-coloured carpet singed and bulging apart along the raised broken lines of concrete underneath where it seemed Credence had tried to pulverise something – _or someone_ \- but had hit the floor instead. Newt could picture in his mind’s eye the terrifying black mass of the Obscurus slamming him out of the way and heading straight for Percival but the Auror’s well-tuned instincts kicking in faster than the other could move and having apparated out of the way. With all the wards up, it was unlikely that Percival could have apparated out of the protective spells but just anywhere else within them, so it was probable that he was apparating and dodging to stall for time whilst Tina tried to calm Credence before he killed anyone.

Hearing shouts coming from outside the cottage he wasted no more time in apparating wandlessly outside of the cottage to the small front garden area and quickly taking in the sight before him. Credence was hovering in the Obscurus’ writhing, churning mass of black smoke, two spots of white barely discernible amongst the darkness but looking to be in a lesser state than the force that had wreaked havoc across half of New York. The source of that temporary sedateness was obviously Tina who was standing in front of a battered looking Percival, palm outstretched towards the Obscurus and tears shining in her Salamander-like eyes. She was speaking slowly, calmly and coaxingly – like Newt would with a sick or injured creature but never taking her eyes off the spots of white that were his.

Newt’s eyes were drawn inexorably, if remorsefully, to Percival’s face and besides some blood spotting his brow and lip and dust covering his usually immaculate clothing he looked to be in alright shape. He noticed with concern that he was clutching at his scarred side, one arm wrapped loosely around the area that often caused him trouble and Newt could only hope that the damage was just a strain or something similar. He was grateful and relieved to see the man’s other hand was clutched around the battered handle of Newt’s suitcase and that it looked relatively intact. The young magizoologist felt his partner’s warm whiskey eyes tear from the threat in front of him and to fix upon him instead, looking astonished but relieved at his presence. Newt offered him a brief, tight smile to reassure him but feeling the tiny mark on the corner of his own lip split apart and trail blood down his chin at the movement. He felt shame rise in him but pushed it back violently once more – _breaking down now won’t help anyone._

Of course, it was at that moment that Tina also noticed his presence, her eyes flickering over to him for just a second, but it was enough to alert Credence to something being behind him and the mass swirled, shooting through with white light as it turned to face the magizoologist. He instantly made his stance as unthreatening but assertive as he could – holding his shoulders loose but spine straight, arms lightly raised with open palms and eyes fixed upon the other’s. Similarly, to how Tina had but making sure to convey apology and openness through his gaze as he spoke. “Credence. Credence, I’m sorry for misleading you but this man is not who you think he is.” He gestured with one arm warily to Percival who was watching with clear concern furrowing his dark brows as Credence swirled again angrily, moving closer to Newt. He stood his ground and held a hand up to prevent Percival from moving forward to assist – he did so but watched on carefully.

“The man you met in New York – the one who was using you – that wasn’t Percival Graves. It was a man who was impersonating him. Had been doing so for months so that he could harness your power to hurt people – to expose wizard-kind to people like your adopted mother and start a war.” He swallowed, keeping eye contact with those unnerving white, pupilless eyes, feeling slightly encouraged by the fact that Credence had not yet descended upon him. “This is the _real_ Percival Graves and he is a better man than the one you knew _ever_ will be. He won’t hurt you. The man who impersonated him is locked up. He won’t ever be able to hurt you.” His eyes glimmered slightly as he refrained from releasing the tight pressure that had built behind them and at his temples, instead offering a soft, encouraging smile. “I should have explained this to you earlier, but we were worried at how you might react. We don’t blame you for being upset but we didn’t lie to you. You _are_ safe here. Everything I said was true – I think you _can_ control this.”              

Credence swirled agitatedly through the air, a glimpse of his pale, sharp-featured face shining through the smoke momentarily before the blackness covered it again, Newt took it as encouragement so took a step forward, palms still out. The Obscurus seethed again and Newt hurriedly withdrew from his small advance as the black mass struck the ground where his foot had been seconds before – sending chunks of earth flying that spattered against him until he backed up further. Clearly, he had underestimated Credence’s temperament and he was quick to raise his hands again, eyes locked onto Credence’s and silently requesting calm, he didn’t want to speak again, as repeating his words would just sound like hollow, bland placations at this point. He was careful not to let his gaze drift back to either Percival or Tina lest the Obscurus mistake the communication for some sort of signal for them to attack, he could feel himself shaking slightly at the thought that he could very well die at any moment and that one of the last things he would have ever done was kiss Gellert Grindelwald. He felt that he at least owed Percival better than that, that if Newt was going to die, he should ensure Percival’s survival if he could.

“Credence.” Tina’s soft voice sounded from to his left and he saw that she had skirted around the edge of the Obscurus towards where Newt stood, there were tears in her eyes and Newt help but be struck by the resemblance this situation held to what happened in the subway tunnel. To Credence, it must seem that Tina and Newt were continuing to defend Graves – someone he thought had manipulated him and the young magizoologist felt relief shoot through him when the Obscurus’ swirling calmed a little when he faced Tina. If there was anyone who could calm him down and get him to revert to his human form, then it would be her – she seemed to have formed a distinctly maternal bond with the young man and Credence in turn appeared to feel it too.

The smoke turned slowly lighter, to the grey that indicated he might be calming further but no one other than Tina dared move – the two men frozen and watching fixatedly as Tina slowly offered a hand towards him. “Credence, its okay, Newt and Percival are only here to help you. If there’s ever anyone who tries to hurt you, I will personally ensure that they won’t be able to. We’ll all protect you. Please Credence, calm down.”  The mass gradually began to recede, solidifying and reforming until it began to resemble a human form once more. “That’s it, Credence, well done, just like that, you’re alright.”

Soon the destructive mass was gone, and, in its place, there stood the familiar slump-shouldered, teary-eyed young man. His dark clothes were dusty, and his frame began to shake with jerky sobs that softened in their harshness as soon as Tina stepped forward to sweep him into a hug. She stood there patiently as Credence sobbed into her shoulder, the young man’s eyes tightly closed and hers wide but blinking rapidly with tears. Newt watched on carefully for some time before he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Percival had made his way around the craters dotting the yard and was standing beside him with concern clear in his warm whiskey gaze. Up close Newt could see that he was a tad more battered than he had originally thought and gently snaked a hand around to help Percival support the damaged area over his ribcage. “Are you alright? Were you much hurt?”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed.” Percival replied dismissively and when Newt fixed him with a dubious look he sighed and relented slightly. “Just a few bruises and a little scar splitting. Damn wall collapsed on me but otherwise I’m fine.” He frowned at Newt and reached up to lightly stroke a thumb over his split lip. “What happened with you? Last I checked you were out for the count. You hit that wall pretty damn hard.” Newt shuddered slightly, pushing back the thought of what he wouldn’t tell Percival – what he barely could admit to himself and carefully pulled Percival’s hand away to hold it down in between them instead.

“Nothing much, just a bit dazed and a headache. Was worried I’d be too late.”

Percival chuckled lowly “I’ve survived worse than having a wall dropped on me, Newt.”

“I know.” Newt admitted before smiling softly. “Don’t make a habit of it though.”

“I’ll try, but no promises.” His mirth faded slightly as he tried to catch Newt’s eye, the younger man feeling hesitant to do so before he felt a hand on his jaw, and he flinched ever so slightly and forced his eyes up again. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Realising that Percival seemed to be onto something close to the truth if the look in his eyes was anything to go by, he relented and admitted just a little of the truth to satiate his partner’s curiosity. “I was out for a minute or two and in that time, I had to put up with… the usual disturbances.” He muttered, not willing to voice the exact nature of his problems this close to Tina and Credence but knowing that his companion would understand his meaning. Dark eyes widened and he drew Newt in closer to his side, giving him a light squeeze around his waist before releasing him completely. Both knew that demonstrating excessive affection for one another around Credence would not be a good idea right now, or at all really, so stepped apart. Fortunately, it seemed that the young American was still preoccupied with the embrace Tina had him wrapped in and his eyes were only just opening. Being aware of the bigoted views that had likely been ingrained into him by his puritanical mother, Newt gave Percival a quick, significant look to suggest that they should limit any contact in front of Credence. The last thing they needed to do now was to upset him with the nature of their relationship – not killing someone was a far cry from being willing to accept anything about them and he wasn’t fool enough to test that.

Instead, he offered a thin smile to the boy and he hesitantly stepped forward out of Tina’s arms over to where Newt and Percival stood a safe distance from one another. Newt glanced briefly towards Percival and then back to Credence, gesturing to the former and saying carefully. “Credence, this is Percival Graves.”

Percival offered him a sombre, apologetic, guilt ridden smile and offered a hand to the younger man who stared at it as if it would bite him for a long time before tentatively shaking it, withdrawing almost immediately and avoiding eye contact. His head was bowed but he kept his eyes on Percival’s hands even once they went back to his side, everyone present could tell that the Obscurial was on knife’s edge so made sure not to make any sudden moves. Credence’s eyes did flick up however when Percival spoke, voice firm, confident but also somehow just as careful and apologetic as Newt’s was. “I’m sorry that we had to meet under such circumstances and that my identity and position of influence was used to hurt and coerce you.” His voice was slightly pained as he continued. “I hope to gain the chance to prove to you that I am not the man you knew, if you’d let me? I completely understand if you prefer that I stayed away but I should let you know that I feel a certain responsibility to those who were harmed by my failures and you are very near the top of that list. If there is anything that I can do to amend for Grindelwald’s actions, then please let me know.”

Credence flinched almost continually while Percival spoke and Newt found himself split between pity for the young man – knowing exactly how Grindelwald’s impersonations and mannerisms of Percival could affect someone but also feeling sympathy for Percival and the position he had been left in. _Forced into more like, by you and the man you not so recently liplocked._ Not now. He refocussed his attention on Credence as he spoke hesitantly, eying Percival’s hands and somewhere about his chest with nervous, shifty eyes.

“G-grindelwald? T-that was the name of the man I… I k-knew?”

Tina nodded, rubbing a hand over his shoulder softly “Yes, sweetie, that was him, but he’s restrained right now - by the man who’s going to be teaching you actually. Professor Dumbledore is a great man and he’s going to help make sure you’re safe too.”

Newt and Percival nodded when Credence’s eyes flickered to them, as if for confirmation, and he looked both relieved and unnerved at the same time, shoulders hunching further. Tina frowned sympathetically and gently guided him towards the partially demolished doorway where there was a small bench that had managed to somehow escape the destruction and sat him down on it. Percival and Newt looked from each other to the destruction of the cottage and nodded in silent agreement, the younger summoning his case wandlessly to his hand where Percival had left it over near the barrier and called his wand to his hand. Both worked in tandem for the second time in as many hours to fix the damage done around them, repairing walls, furniture, windows, doors and other such furnishings of the cottage. Within minutes, the house was standing in more or less the same state it had been before the Obscurus broke loose, when they were finished, Newt offered a small smile to Credence who was watching their work with avid, nervous interest. He opened his mouth as if to ask something but then closed it and diverted his gaze back down, Newt approached the bench at a steady, noticeable pace. “Something on your mind?”

Credence ducked his head before asking, eyes still fixed on his shoes “I-is that one of the things that I’m going to learn?”

Newt smiled at the young man’s enthusiasm, feeling hope blooming in his chest for the sign that Credence might be warming to the idea of learning magic despite his ingrained attitudes towards such things and his negative experiences with it thus far. “Yes, I expect so, though not straight away of course.” He scratched the back of his neck with his wand hand absently and Credence nodded slightly. “I think Dumbledore might start you off with some basic control first before trying any spells but in time I’m sure he could teach you it.” He paused, eying Credence curiously. “You have a particular interest in reparation?”

Credence tilted his head, flicking his eyes up to near Newt’s for a few moments “I like the idea of knowing how to fix what I break.” His lips curled very slightly in something that could have been a hopeful smile and he maintained something close to eye contact for a fraction of a second. “Could I… could I learn healing? That is something normal wizards can do right? Mr Gr- I mean… that man… he did it… c-could I learn?”

Newt smile widened and he nodded encouragingly “Yes, it’s a noble pursuit and one well worth learning. I’m sure that if you ask Dumbledore when the time comes, he’ll be only too happy to show you.” Credence _definitely_ smiled then – it was as tiny and anxious as his posture, but Newt took it as encouragement and Tina smiled at him over Credence’s shoulder. Readjusting his grip on his case handle, he placed it down on the ground, sending a quick look around all others present before explaining. “I’m just going to check on everyone, I’ll be back soon.” He glanced over at Percival. “Mind giving me a hand?”

Percival looked mildly surprised but nodded and Newt dropped Credence a small wink before descending into his case, he smiled slightly at the gasp that came from the young man and thought that maybe one day he might be able to show Credence his creatures. He’d have to wait until the Obscurial had better control of his powers of course, but Newt felt an odd liking for the younger man – wanted to help support a fellow victim of Grindelwald’s odd blend of abuse and affection. Credence was a good soul - he could sense it, it was just trapped beneath years of abuse, neglect, repression and pain. He knew that with the proper love and care they could work to draw him out of his shell – he’d done it with many creatures before him and he knew that Tina was loving and sweet enough to draw out the boy’s better nature.

Unfortunately, the thoughts of abuse and Grindelwald only served to stir up the stagnating pit of emotions within him that he had tried to let alone – he knew he would have to deal with eventually but right now was not that time. He had too much to do; check on his creatures, return home to care for the rest, make sure that Percival was alright and most likely fend off another furious tirade from his elder brother whenever Theseus managed to tear himself away from his important Ministry business to check upon the chaos that had been wreaked in his absence. Newt did feel guilty that he had managed to break his promise to Theseus quite so quickly but at the same time found that the much more eclipsing matters he should feel guilt for helped to abate that. He was aware that he was in a kind of holding pattern right now, managing to slow his descent into dark and icy waters in any way he could, but not being able to completely prevent the eventual crash. In the meantime until that crash however, he could just get on with his life so long as no more crises presented themselves between now and then - Merlin Willing.

He went about each enclosure, braving the separate climates, shucking his coat and waistcoat on the way around and quietly guiding Percival to assist him in his tasks. Relief permeated him as he realised that none of his creatures were any the worse for Newt’s abrupt journey into the wall and that his stabilising charms had thankfully held even against the Obscurus’ wrath. He supposed that Credence had not been aiming to kill him otherwise he wouldn’t be alive right now and the Obscurus had just been getting him out of the way in his path to obliterate Percival. The Auror in question was currently distributing pellets to the Mooncalves whilst Newt worked on calming the as usual agitated Nifflers – fortunately with the aid of gloves this time. He was just wrangling Jeremy and Leela away from a silver pocket-watch that they had somehow managed to pilfer from Theseus if the engraved ‘T.A.S’ was anything to go by, when Percival finally spoke up as Newt had been expecting him to for the past half-hour. “Newt, what exactly happened back there?”    

“Hmm?” He mumbled in assent but also question, wand clamped between his teeth as two more of the Niffler children decided that scarpering over Newt’s gloved arms looked like fun and began chasing one another around him. He managed to grab two in each hand, using a wandless charm to hover the pocket-watch out of their grabby little clutches and sending it into his own pocket whilst he returned the creatures to their parents, hastily replacing the wards before the Nifflers could escape again. Newt became aware of Percival’s presence standing just beside where he was crouched down by the burrows only when the older wizard patiently leant down to remove his wand from between his lips. The young magizoologist rose, silently accepting the wand as Percival handed it back to him with a raised brow and Newt sighed. “What are you talking about in particular?”

Percival gave him an irritated look as though Newt were being deliberately obtuse but clarified nonetheless “What happened when you were hit. I saw that happened, Newt. I’m not blind.” Feeling sweat form on the back of his neck and his pulse begin to race, he swallowed hard, wondering what Percival had seen him do in his unconscious state and wondering how much he could get away with excluding without knowing what he knew. Oh, Merlin’s beard, what if he had been speaking the words he did in the cell or worse… what if his body had been performing the same actions it had there… oh no, no, no, no. Percival evidently noticed his discomfort and was quick to place a placating hand on his shoulder that Newt didn’t have to heart or focus to shrug off even though he knew he deserved no such comfort. “Newt, it’s alright, you can tell me, I just wanted to ask once we were away from Tina and Credence. I knew that you probably didn’t want either to know about you being able to perform magic in your sleep. You were just doing what was best not to scare Credence and I understand that.”

Newt frowned, perplexed “What?” His partner’s own frown deepened, eyes darkening slightly and hand tensing on Newt’s shoulder fractionally.

“You weren’t aware of it this time?”

“Aware of what? What did I do?” Newt asked, almost panicked in his confusion.

“When Credence hit you, you flashed bright silver and as soon as you hit the wall you kind of… just faded away. I was scared at first… I thought you’d-” He cut himself off and regarded Newt worriedly. “The brief glimpse I saw before I had to apparate, you were just lying there still and shimmering – like you weren’t even really there and I guessed that you’d gone into… the other place physically, like you had before. It was like before but without all the fire.”      

Newt stared, nonplussed for moment before asking “Did anyone else-”

Percival interrupted him quickly “No, Tina didn’t see anything, I don’t think – she was too focussed on the Obscurus going for me, but Credence may have.”

“Right…” Newt murmured, frown deepening at the possible implications, he felt Percival’s grip tighten on his shoulder and looked up again.

“What did he say this time?”

Newt felt the cold sweat prickle the back of his neck again and decided to stick to his tactic of revealing half-truths to disguise the fact that he was hiding more. “Well, he was surprisingly amiable about me hitting him for one thing. But I get the feeling that he might bring it up again later - next time he wants to know something most likely.” His brow creased unhappily, and he repressed a shudder at the price he’d already paid but again pushed past it as Percival spoke.

“Are you sure that’s all, Newt? Why did you come around so quickly if you went to the other place? Usually it’s nearly impossible to wake you.”

“I- I think he expects a favour in return...” He paused before adding “I think he also might’ve just not wanted me dead.”

“Not for lack of trying on his part.” Percival growled under his breath and Newt shrugged his shoulders in something that could have been indifference or agreement but didn’t venture a response beyond that. A cloud of deeper concern suddenly flickered to life in Percival’s eyes and he looked deeper into Newt. “Wait, does this mean that he knows what’s happening to you? At all times?”

“I think he knows some of it.” Newt admitted with a tilt of his head in consideration. “Because of the bond, he can sort of read my surface thoughts if he wants to. I can do the same, but I don’t really want to go down that road…” He shuddered slightly and Percival rubbed his arm sympathetically, brows still creased in concern.

“Is there any way to keep him out? Occlumency perhaps?”

Newt shook his head “Albus said the bond doesn’t work like that and that Occlumency or more traditional defences wouldn’t make a difference.”

“But what about just stopping him going into your memories? That sounds less to do with the bond and more of plain old Legilimency.” As Newt opened his mouth to protest Percival interrupted him, a fierce gleam of determination sparking in his warm whiskey eyes. “Even if it doesn’t do anything there’s no harm in learning.”

Newt smiled a rueful smile “I tried learning when I was in school, but I was never any good at it.”

Percival’s brows rose slightly, and he grinned “Well, that was probably because teaching a teenage boy to calm his mind is an effort in futility from the very start. It’s often an easier skill to learn as an adult. Besides you didn’t have me teaching you.”

Newt smirked slightly at the Auror’s cocky attitude and raised a sceptical brow of his own “No, I just had Dumbledore instead. I’m sure that your immeasurable sense of American superiority will be the thing to make all the difference.”

Percival laughed and shoved lightly at the slighter man’s shoulder before seeming to sober a bit as he asked, “Was there any part of your life that _wasn’t_ directly influenced by Albus Dumbledore?”         

Newt chuckled lightly and looked up at Percival though his fringe a bit abashed. “Well after I started Hogwarts, no, not really. He’s been a good friend for as long as I’ve known him, and he was my favourite teacher. I suppose it sounds a bit weird making friends with your school teacher, but he was very supportive of my interest in creatures and my pursuits of an… alternative career path. Not to mention the trouble he went to preventing my wand from being snapped after I was expelled.” 

Percival nodded a bit reluctantly but clearly understanding Newt’s defence of Dumbledore. “I guess that would lend to a close bond, but can I ask why you were getting expelled in the first place? You never did say.”

Newt ducked his head awkwardly as he remembered Grindelwald-as-Percival asking about his expulsion during his interrogation but offered a brittle smile anyway. “As you can probably guess it was because of a creature.” Percival nodded as Newt continued, a bit hesitantly “My friend Leta and I were taking care of several Jarvey’s that had found their way into the Hogwarts grounds and we were hiding them in a broom cupboard until I could find a way to release them back into their natural habitat. They prefer to live unground you see, and the broom cupboard was the darkest, most isolated place we could find until then.” He paused, unsure with the unpleasantness of remembering his friend in the negative light of what he was about to divulge. “I had thought that Leta wanted to protect them just like I did, but I found out that she had been using them to get revenge on her fellow Slytherins for pranks and bullying. It wasn’t too bad at first, just letting them loose in the dormitories and allowing them to rip up some clothes and things like that. Teaching them to yell curse words at teachers too. But then she went too far.”

He tilted his ahead, regarding his gloved hands and absently removing the garments as he realised, he was still wearing them, placing them on a nearby table and began gathering ingredients into a bowl to feed the Fwooper, crushing insects and some curative herbs for one of the sicker birds. He felt Percival follow slowly as he moved about the enclosure, but the older man said nothing, gaze silently prompting Newt to continue, which he did. “We were checking on them in their cupboard on the fourth floor when her housemates caught up with her and were angry for what she’d done in the dorms. Apparently one of them had lost a family heirloom of some sort because of it. I tried to stand up for her at the time because I didn’t realise that it was her who had done it, but I quickly realised what she’d done when I looked at her face. One of them tried to jinx her and she managed to dodge but the spell hit the box we were keeping the Jarveys in and they escaped. They’re not usually aggressive but they were frightened and were surrounded by angry, shouting humans who tried to attack them… so they attacked right back.” Newt took a deep, shuddering breath at the memory, glancing up to see Percival’s warm, troubled eyes regarding him sympathetically. “No one was seriously hurt – just a few bites and scratches but the children’s parents were understandably upset and called for an inquiry. Both Leta and I were called to the Headmaster’s office to answer questions about it and I told them that it had all been my fault.” He shook his head a bit numbly, dejectedly but then smiled thinly at Percival as he paused in his mixing. “Everyone bought it immediately as I was already pretty well known for being… passionate about creatures. Dumbledore tried to convince me to tell the truth, but I knew that Leta’s family would not be as… accepting as my mum would be, so I told him it was my fault. I think he knew the truth, but he accepted that it was my decision - still managed to let me keep my wand so that was all that really mattered, I suppose.”

Percival looked at him with an unfathomable expression before breaking the tense silence that had fallen with a dry laugh “I can’t imagine that Theseus was too happy with you.”

That prompted a genuine laugh from Newt as he paced around the table with a handful of greenish paste for the ailing Fwooper and shot the Auror a rueful grin “You could say that again – threw half the contents of our kitchen at me and cast Colloshoo on me at every chance he got for the next few weeks. My mum wasn’t happy with him for that, but she didn’t seem too upset about my expulsion past the effect it had on me…” He trailed off at the thought of his mother but then shook his head forcefully, smiling at Percival over his shoulder as he coaxed the Fwooper closer from her rocky perch. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention the details to Theseus – he still doesn’t know exactly what happened, I didn’t want to upset him when he got engaged… not that it matters much now I suppose… but nonetheless I see no reason to let him dwell on the past more than he already does.”

“I won’t.” Percival promised but Newt felt a stare prickle the back of his neck and he glanced back from his awkward, craned position and the Auror ventured. “You don’t talk about your family much – apart from Theseus, of course.”

“Neither do you.” Newt replied, turning back to the task at hand, outstretching his palm further towards the green and yellow bird as it hopped to-and-fro – attracted by the smell of food but not by the bitter scent of medicine. He heard Percival sigh behind him and felt a strand of added guilt flex around his already constricted heart – there should be no reason why he shouldn’t share his family history if he wanted to know. He was keeping enough secrets without adding this to the list. When he spoke, he kept his tone matter of fact and purposefully light to maintain a more casual tone than their usually misery saturated conversations. “My mum was the one who got me interested in magical creatures. She bred Hippogriffs and there was a herd that lived near our house that I used to help her take care of, we lived on the edge of a wood you see and there were plenty of creatures there that I began to discover once I was old enough to explore, about five or so I think. It’s where I discovered Pickett’s branch.”

He smiled fondly and glanced down at the green head that popped out of his shirt collar at the mention of his name. “I spent most of my time outside when I could and helped my mum for the year or so after I was expelled with the Hippogriffs – I wasn’t old enough to work just yet you see, and no one was willing to take on an expelled student with little experience. Mum didn’t seem to mind but she wouldn’t’ve mentioned it even if she did. Theseus was already working in the Auror department by that point and was supporting mum and me.” He swallowed, ducking his head as he finally stepped down from the perch on a rock after the medicine had been devoured whilst he spoke. Without the physical activity the story was getting harder to tell and he found himself fumbling a bit over his words as he turned back to the table nearby, he leant back against it, eyes meeting Percival’s briefly before awkwardness overtook him once more and he stepped around him to grab a nearby bucket of chopped meat. Feeling that it couldn’t hurt to let the Graphorns have their dinner a bit earlier than usual, the young magizoologist made his way over to their enclosure of open starlit plains and began to call for them in long, drawn out cries.

Percival admirably did not flinch back at the approach of the large, stampeding creatures anymore and instead stood his ground beside the nearby rocky outcrop, regarding the beasts with appreciative eyes that left Newt feel slightly more comfortable. It was always a pleasure to see people reacting favourably to magnificent creatures such as this, and all the more so to see that he had acclimatised the American Director of Security so well to them. He spent a minute or so feeding the chopped, bloody meat to the Graphorn parents and their now almost adolescent offspring before he glanced back at Percival again who was watching his actions with patient interest.

“You told me she passed away.” Percival prompted softly, carefully but Newt nodded, familiar with the pang of longing he experienced when thinking of his mother – it was an experienced difficulty by now. 

“Yes… she developed Influenza about a year and a half after I was expelled – went to visit a client in the Catalan region and caught it there. It’s usually treatable but when combined with the particular strain of respiratory difficulties she already had, it caused her to not really realise that anything was wrong until it was nearly too late. She got worse over the course of a few weeks and for a while it seemed like she was going to be alright but then she suddenly took a turn for the worse and I couldn’t get a healer to her in time.”

He paused, blinking back tears at the memory of desperately running through the empty house to the fireplace and floo-ing to the Ministry to get Theseus. He hadn’t known what to do and had gone to his brother for help as his mother lay coughing violently and struggling to breathe in her bed. In retrospect, he had later realised that his mother had probably sent him off to find Theseus just so that he wouldn’t have to deal with her death on his own – so that he wouldn’t see it happen. At the time he had run _so fast_ , racing through the corridors of the Ministry to find his brother and knocking into random passers-by in his blind rush, he had run straight into Theseus’ colleague - Gerard Limerine - who had left a meeting to apprehend the dishevelled redheaded youth who had been reported causing chaos in the corridors. The man had gripped him by the shoulders and demanded in a patient tone what he was doing there, and Newt had barely been able to string the words together to explain that he needed to see his brother right away. The Auror had taken him to his sibling and Newt had explained hastily what had happened, Theseus had been quick to get them both back to the house to check on her after summoning one of the Ministry healers, but it had already been too late by the time they got there.   

He felt Percival squeeze his arm gently where it had frozen mid-air whilst holding out a piece of meat to the female Graphorn youngling – Susan – and the beast was now snuffling gently with her snout tentacles, looking for more. Newt blinked rapidly, trying to clear remnants of tears from his eyes, sending a grateful smile to his partner for rousing him from his grim contemplation. Percival carefully took the bucket from him, having rolled up his own sleeves neatly to reveal strong, dark-haired forearms and set about doling out the rest of the neat – the Graphorn family were trusting enough of the Auror as he had spent nearly six months visiting Newt on a fairly regular basis. Not only had they encountered and been greeted by the American enough, but they had grown accustomed to his scent as it had mingled with Newt’s own due to the regular contact and the man’s presence in his house at least several times a week. It struck Newt just then how much a part of his life Percival had grown to become in the less than a year since they had met and found himself smiling slightly at the release of a little strand of tension that had grown between them through silence and aversion. Tentatively, he ventured his own query – having often wondered about Percival’s family but only having learnt snippets as the man was almost as cagey on the subject as he had been.  

“You said your mother lives in Ireland?” Percival looked over at him, placing the bucket down on the nearby table and using a scouring charm to clean the blood from his hands before answering.

“Yes, I still send her money to keep her family’s estate in repair and visit very occasionally but I haven’t done so in quite a while.”

Newt felt awkward as he wondered aloud “Did she know about… what happened with Grindelwald?”

Percival chuckled mirthlessly “A little of it - felt that she should at least be given an excuse why I didn’t attend her sister’s third wedding. She didn’t seem to appreciate my excuse about the last one – that I didn’t want to celebrate the social victory of a gold-digging harpy.” Newt chuckled a little too, but half-heartedly as he sensed his partner’s reluctance; Percival seemed to sense it and sighed again, rolling down his sleeves and neatening them in firm, decisive movements before facing him. The Auror was leant back against the large rock, hair, eyes and pallor glinting in the artificial starlight of the enclosure.

“You don’t get along with them well I take it?”

“Not all of them are bad people per se, they just have an inescapable tendency to fixate more upon someone’s wealth and blood status before their character. My mother is well meaning but she just wants me to continue the pureblood Graves line as I’m the last to carry the name as well as the blood. Feels like she owes it to my father I think.” He tilted his head in distaste “Keeps on trying to arrange a ‘good marriage’ for me and it makes it all a bit awkward.”

“I’ll bet.” Newt conceded, smirking slightly at the idea of Percival having to pry attractive, snooty pureblood witches off himself and offered Percival a sympathetic chuckle. “You should have seen how hard Theseus tried to set me up with Ministry ladies when he got engaged to Leta. I think he was trying to assuage some ridiculous sense of guilt as well as getting me better involved with the ‘Ministry family.’”

Percival snorted “Has he always been such a busybody?”

Newt nodded emphatically “Yeah, but it’s mainly been worse since mum passed. He suddenly got a lot more obsessed with fulfilling some sort of family role. It was another reason why I was so keen on getting experience out in the field. Well, that, and because I didn’t really know what else to do – there were so many creatures out there that I heard about being abused, trafficked and killed… I couldn’t just sit around at some desk in the Ministry while such depravity went on.”

“It’s commendable indeed.” He paused and raised a questioning brow “You never considered pursuing a career in Law enforcement? Auror work isn’t all sitting around at desks and you would likely still get the chance to help people. Creatures too if you went about it right.”

Newt smiled softly, patiently and shook his head “No, I was never one for violence and even discounting that, I’ve found that up until recently, most of the Aurors I met were nothing but careerist hypocrites who would just as soon kill an innocent if they thought there was even a _chance_ that they could be dangerous.” He flushed a little in indignation at the thought but also at the embarrassment of admitting his opinion to Percival who was regarding him with a mixed, sombre expression.

“I can understand why you might think that.”

“I don’t think you and Tina are like that, of course – Theseus neither most of the time, but I tend to stay away from law enforcement if I can help it, for obvious reasons.” He muttered, gesturing around in a sweeping movement at the inside of the case and Percival smiled thinly.

“I may be one for law and order on a grander scale, but I’ve often found that there are cases that go beyond the short-sightedness of some of MACUSA’s laws. I uphold the law because its better than the alternative – one that many would see as an improvement simply because it is a rapid change even if it ultimately just ends up causing more harm.” He sighed, rubbing a weary hand at his brow as they began to meander back through the case towards the shed entrance.

“I understand your point, but I still don’t think I’d be very well-suited to such a career path – don’t fancy my chances of lasting more than five minutes hunting down dark wizards with my luck.”

“I don’t know about that, I’m pretty sure that if we let you just stand in a field somewhere for a bit, any trouble within a hundred-mile radius would probably just be drawn right in and we could arrest them all on the spot.” Percival side-smiled at him as they entered the shed, the older holding the door open for him politely, Newt smiled too; both at the comment and the gesture.

“What, and deprive you Aurors of a real job? Whatever would you do otherwise?” He smirked but Percival’s own smirk turned positively wolfish and he grabbed Newt around the waist, swinging him in close and breathing hot and close right by his ear.

“More of something like this I would hope.” He murmured, nipping lightly at Newt’s ear before soothing the area with a kiss and a shudder shot through Newt, both of pleasure and shame. He smiled ruefully and withdrew from the other man who practically pouted at him in disappointment and he laughed at how ridiculous the expression looked on the Auror’s stern face.

“As much as I would like to find out just what you meant, if things stay true to form, my brother will come barging in any moment now and I’d much rather not be interrupted again.”

Percival scowled slightly but chuckled nonetheless “You have a point.” Newt felt a bit guilty at deterring the Auror even if the real reason was for more than a petty concern for embarrassment… if it was because he had betrayed his companion with the wizard who had made both of their lives a living hell. He pushed back violently at the sweeping wave of self-loathing that once again threatened to overwhelm him and turned his back on Percival, climbing the ladder and hopefully dissuading any doubts the other man may have had in the process. When they emerged from the case, Newt had managed to school his expression back into a more or less neutral mask and Percival seemed satisfied with his excuse if a bit ruffled. The house was intact once more, and the case had moved – likely by Tina - to the living room floor – as both wizards could hear the patter of rain outside.

“Finally.” Newt turned to see his irritated brother seated in the chair Percival had previously occupied and that the door to Credence’s room was closed, the soft murmur of voices issuing through the newly repaired wood. Newt sighed inwardly and offered Theseus a sheepish smile.

“No injuries and everything’s in one piece, see?” He tried, gesturing to himself, Percival and the room at large with one hand. Theseus pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose, eyes pressed tightly closed as if trying to repress a migraine before opening them and regarding Newt with tired exasperation.

“I don’t even know what to yell at you anymore. There’s no point in it really, is there?”   

Newt smiled ruefully “Not really, no.”

“Glad we’re all agreed on that then.” Percival put in with forced joviality and steered Newt towards the door just as Theseus stood, levelling a glare at his fellow Auror, though it was softer than usual.  

“Didn’t say you were off the hook here, Graves, from what Tina told me, it’s your fault!”   

“No, I didn’t!” Both Percival and Newt had to fight off grins as Tina’s disembodied, weary sounding shout called from the other room. Theseus looked suitably mollified, but his weak glare demonstrated his irritation still. Newt took pity on his brother and did his best to look compliant.

“It was a mistake on my part for leaving the door open. If you hadn’t insisted on me having a _chaperone_ in the first place, then there wouldn’t have been an issue.” He shot a brief look to Percival before adding. “If anything, this proves that Credence is more than capable of controlling the Obscurus just as long as he is treated with the proper care and respect.”  

“Only you would take _that_ from this situation, Newt.” Theseus sighed and then muttered under his breath “Merlin help me.” Percival looked as though he was about to offer up a scornful or mocking comment when there was a low, familiar chime that rang through the room from Percival’s pocket and he sighed, withdrawing his pocket-watch and flicking open the cover to reveal its face glowing amber. He knew from experience that the watch was a miniaturised version of the large threat-gauging clock in MACUSA and that it alerted Percival any time there was a change or emergency.  

“Damn it.” He turned to Newt and offered an apologetic grimace that the younger interpreted immediately and nodded in understanding almost before he began speaking. “I’ve got to go. I think that my team may have finally caught up with some of Grindelwald’s followers in Boston and I don’t trust them to make the arrests on their own – the last time I did, three ended up injured and they escaped.”   

“It’s alright, I understand. I’ll see you when I do.” He smiled softly when Percival leant forward for a brief kiss of Newt’s lips before he headed for the door, exiting with a few waves of his hand to remove the wards outside temporarily before apparating in a swirl of dramatic black dress-coat.

“Bloody show-off.” It surprised Newt to realise that the words sounded from his brother and raised a questioning, amused eyebrow at him. Theseus scowled slightly and explained. “Flaunting his spell-work by dismantling my wards like that. Just doing it to brag.”

“Thee, I would try to tell you that everything isn’t a competition, but I’ve been telling you the same thing since you were of age and you’ve paid about as much attention to me as I have to you.”  

“Then you best shut up little brother before I decide to make you wish that knock on your head was the most of your troubles.” He threatened lazily, rapping knuckles lightly on Newt’s head before ruffling his hair in the way he always did when he wanted to annoy him. Newt scowled and batted at the offending hand half-heatedly, plucking Theseus’ own recovered watch from his pocket and throwing it to his brother who caught it one-handed. Newt took the opportunity to duck down and grab his case, moving towards the door himself. Theseus smirked, digging one hand into his pocket to return the watch whilst waving the wand held in his other to temporarily lower the wards again to let him go, nodding a goodbye. Newt left the ward bubble and apparated as soon as he was able back to his own front door, unlocking it swiftly and placing his case on the living room armchair before hastening upstairs to his bathroom.

He slammed the door shut behind him, barely making it to the toilet before he felt the lingering self-loathing and revulsion overwhelm him all in that moment as his barriers crumbled. Newt didn’t vomit, only dry-heaved for several minutes at the thought of his own despicable actions before collapsing back against his bathtub, shivering and shaking on the cold tiled floor. He rubbed a trembling hand over his face, scrubbing at the sweat that had broken out all over him, making him feel almost as dirty on the outside as he did inside. He had kissed Gellert Grindelwald. Not just _kissed_ but practically spread himself out underneath the man against a wall while releasing sounds that made it sound _like he wanted more_. On a surface level he knew that it was just a physical reaction that was out of his control and that any pleasure he had felt had likely been the response of a last-ditch attempt of his brain to cling onto something stabilising. He didn’t like Gellert – he _didn’t_. _Couldn’t_ feel anything for him other than pity and disgust. Anything he was feeling or had felt was a result of his crumbling mind, sleep deprivation and the _stupid_ , _inescapable_ bond. It wasn’t anything to do with him. Not really. He loved Percival – he may not have said the words out loud yet, but he knew it was true.

The man had helped him so much in more ways than he could name, and he whilst he wasn’t so ridiculously besotted that he could no longer imagine life without Percival like the stories, poems and songs on such matters might have you believe. He _could_ imagine continuing without him but most certainly didn’t _want_ to – it would feel hollow at this point. He had become so used to his constant support and warm, ever-patient affection that he knew he had Percival placed firmly in a place in his heart. He had never imagined he could feel so much for one person, despite all the difficulties that had been thrown their way, it felt as though Percival might feel the same about him. He could see the way that the Auror changed when he was around him – it may have taken him a long time to do so – perhaps longer than it would have someone else, but now that he saw it, he couldn’t _unsee_ it.

It came as both an immeasurable joy to him but also one of guilt for the unfortunate timing of the revelation – when Percival was gone for at least the next few days and Newt was left with little option other than to face his demons. Or rather, the _one_ demon – one that was waiting just around the corner of sleep for him even as he sat there. His frame jerked with the first sob and he pressed a hand to his lips to stifle the sound, as if that could somehow repress and crush the guilt he felt. Suddenly feeling the _need_ to scrub the sweat and fault from his skin, he turned the tap on his old chipped bathtub, impatiently stripping off his clothes and glaring at the too-slowly filling tub he submerged himself in the too-hot water before even thinking to add any cold. He hissed as his feet and legs swiftly sank into the scorching liquid but also found that the pain helped assuage a little of the numbing self-loathing, he sank down further, allowing the blistering water to burn away at both his skin and mind. Once fully-submerged he reached up to turn the tap off, slightly numbed fingertips fumbling with the movement before finally managing it, he sank back, legs curled into his chest and head laid back on the edge of the tub.

He stared blankly up at the off-white, paint-cracked ceiling.  

 _What the hell are you doing, Newt?_    

For once, he had no reply.                  


	18. Chapter 18

**“Roll away your stone, I'll roll away mine and together we can see what we will find, don't leave me alone at this time, for I am afraid of what I will discover inside**

**...and I have filled this void with things unreal and all the while my character it steals**

**"Darkness" is a harsh term, don't you think? And yet it dominates the things I seek.**

**...It's not the long walk home that will change this heart but the welcome I receive with the restart.**

**Stars hide your fires! These here are my desires and I will give them up to you this time around and so, I'll be found, with my stake stuck in this ground, marking its territory of this newly impassioned soul.**

**You, you've gone too far this time, you have neither reason nor rhyme, with which to take this soul that is so rightfully mine.” – ‘Roll away your stone’ – Mumford & Sons **

Newt was sat on the sill of his bedroom window when he received the letter from Percival. He had been absently drawing in his blue-bound sketchbook – a gift from Percival – when the familiar form of Arthur flew towards the window he was currently perched upon. He fluttered to a quick halt, hovering just in front of the open frame before dropping down to perch on top of Newt’s drawn up knees and released the note when the magizoologist reached for it, stroking the feathers of his head lightly as he did so. It had been two days since the Auror had left and whilst that wasn’t unusual, Newt had still felt an odd sort of anticipation gnawing at his gut that had little to do with his abstinence from sleep or the guilt clouding his mind and heart. The note had been written hastily, unusually sloppily, in Percival’s familiar hand and its contents had been no more reassuring than the peculiar address.

_Newt_

_Sorry for the abruptness of my departure but I’m afraid that I will be absent for at least another three days as an unavoidable matter has been brought to my attention that requires my full involvement. I hope that all is well with you and that your sleeping arrangements remain untroublesome._

_Fondly yours, Percival_

The words were clearly Percival’s own, but they seemed deliberately evasive which was odd – usually Percival was as honest as he could be about his work, often asked for Newt’s opinion where it was relevant, and this ambiguity set Newt’s teeth on edge. He frowned down at the brief note for several minutes, lost in thought before a light peck on his hand startled him from his reverie and he realised that the tired, no doubt hungry owl was still perched upon his knees. He shook himself slightly and offered an arm for the bird to perch upon, tucking his sketchpad under his other before taking him downstairs and into the cellar where he managed to scrounge some owl pellets for Arthur to munch on. There was no use in worrying excessively over what the note had said – if his Auror work kept him busy then that’s how it had to be, Newt wasn’t fool enough to expect that Percival would always be there, he had a job, and an important one at that. As much as he found himself feeling anxious whenever Percival went back to America- especially on raids or Grindelwald related cases, he trusted Percival’s skills and capability in the area – it was what he lived for. All Newt could do was hope that he returned safely, even if he wasn’t certain of what the Auror was dealing with, he trusted him to get himself out of it in one piece.      

Newt nodded absently to Bunty who was edging towards the large watery enclosure where the Kelpie was housed, tucking the letter hastily into his sketchbook and placing it on a nearby table before doubling back to fix the young witch with a reproving look. “Bunty, I told you not to work so hard. You know how Marius can be.” He commented, rolling up his sleeves rapidly and taking the bucket of fish from her bandaged hands with a concerned look. “Don’t want you nearly losing any more fingers.”

“Its fine Newt, honestly, I was just about finished for the day anyway.” She replied a bit dejectedly, he had noticed that over the past few months she had been a bit off and sullen, but he supposed it was from after what happened with Abernathy back in February. He had offered her the chance to leave his employment after the attack, but she had flat out refused and told him in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t going to let one little head wound stop her from training with ‘the best magizoologist in the world’. He had flushed embarrassedly at the remark but accepted that she wasn’t going to change her mind and was grateful for that – she had been an immense help with caring for everyone. Even with the occasional added assistance of Percival, Queenie and Jacob whenever they had the time and inclination, he had been struggling to rush about his usual duties and attentions with the added weight of exhaustion dragging upon him.  

Of course, he still wouldn’t exchange his creatures for anything in the world – as messed up as his life often was, he still found that being with the beasts made him feel the eternal hope, wonder and joy that he could always rely upon. Each creature was spectacular in its own way and Newt could finally appreciate the experience that those close to him shared even a little of what he did – that they could be encouraged to see the wonder in the magical creature kingdom. Bunty had been an immeasurable help, even if she was almost more awkward with social ques than he, often blushing and babbling as he often did, but she was also a very competent budding magizoologist. He felt confident that should anything ever happen to him _– something that seems ever increasingly likely –_ that she would be able to care for the creatures to the best of her abilities, keeping them safe, healthy and happy. That thought left him with a constant source of peace that remained even when other aspects of his life were thrown into infinitely deep, dark and roiling waters.

Speaking of waters, Newt gave a quick nod to Bunty who smiled at him briefly before he jumped backwards into the water where Marius resided. The Kelpie swam a few dizzying circuits around Newt in a customarily challenging though playful manner before he made his move, darting out an arm and latching onto the bridle with a firm grip. The other hand released the bucket and allowed the fish to float in the greenish water around them, prompting Marius to dart forwards to snatch them up. Just when Newt’s lungs began to burn a little too much and he prepared to non-verbally cast a bubblehead charm Marius finally darted upwards, heading straight out of the surface in a spray of water and caught one of the errant fishes that had bobbed to the surface. The soaked young magizoologist gripped tightly onto the bridle as Marius began making surface level laps of the simulated lake enclosure, the sun glinting brightly along his green back and Newt’s saturated hair.

He gasped in air for the brief time he was allowed before Marius dived again. he could have cast a bubblehead charm and probably should have but he often found riding with the Kelpie that much more exhilarating when he knew that his life was in the creature’s hands and that Marius always made sure to respect his needs as a non-water-breathing lifeform. It felt much better to be experiencing the water as the Kelpie did, as even though they thrived just fine underwater they did enjoy breathing air almost as much as humans did even if it wasn’t entirely necessary. When Marius finally seemed satisfied with Newt’s involvement in his letting off steam he obligingly swam back over to the upper stairs of the enclosures where Bunty was waiting with another bucket of fish to tempt the creature in for treatment. The wounds from his previous abuse had healed up well with the regular salving but Newt still felt tendrils of anger curl through him at the thought of how he had found Marius in a Loch in the Scottish Highlands.

The local Muggles had been shooting at him with an old-style pre-war shotgun that had opened holes in the creature’s thick hide and Newt had been forced to stun and obliviate all four of the Muggles in order to get the poor beast away from them. None of them had been hurt of course, as Newt had been careful with his spells, but he had resented their violent, instinctive outburst at a creature that they had believed was killing people in their village. He could understand why they had reacted in such a way, but the cruelty still got to him. Newt had gone there due to reports of deaths that were reminiscent of the pattern of a particularly aggressive Grindylow brood and had taken care to isolate and placate the creatures before he had discovered Marius was in the same waterway and that had been what provoked the Muggles into believing sorcery was involved. Whilst Grindylow were usually more violent, they were also subtler about it than Kelpies, dragging their prey down to consume it rather than simply devouring it wherever they pleased, so Newt had quickly realised what exactly had been causing the problem.

“There we go, all done.” Bunty’s voice broke him from his reminiscing, and he looked up bewilderedly to see that she had finished her work and was regarding Newt curiously. He smiled briefly and clambered back up onto dry land, giving the Kelpie one last pat before he dived again, spraying both with a wall of water. Newt laughed at Bunty’s surprised shriek at the cold water and pulled his wand out to dry the both off within moments. Bunty looked somewhere between grateful and oddly disappointed, though about what, Newt couldn’t imagine and instead moved back up a stairwell towards the upper levels, hearing her follow hurriedly behind him.

“You can go home now if you want Bunty, you’ve done brilliantly as always. Thank you for all your help.” He smiled over his shoulder as they jogged up the stairs into the main house and he caught sight of her blushing furiously.   

“It’s a pleasure – I’m learning so much and its not too much work, I like keeping busy.”

“Well that makes two of us I suppose. Tea?” Newt responded as he entered the kitchen, waving his wand towards the kettle which filled itself at the sink and then sat about boiling, the trappings for tea quickly following to float into two chipped mugs from the cupboard. Within moments the beverages were ready, and he passed one over to Bunty who smiled, sipping nervously as Newt went to lean against the sink, sipping at his own. There was quiet for minute or so before Bunty ventured in an anxious tone, eyes not leaving her cup.   

“So, when’s your Mr Graves going to be back?” Newt tilted his head at the oddly timed question, and she blushed all the way up to her messy hairline.

“Another few days I should expect, busy and all that. Why’d you ask?”

“Oh, I was just… wondering... he’s been around here a lot recently and I was thought maybe something might be wrong.”

Newt tipped his head inquisitively “Why would you think that?”

“Well what with everything’s that’s been going on since February and with all the stuff in the Prophet I thought maybe he’d run into some trouble cause of that.”

“The Prophet? What do you mean?”

She regarded him with wide eyes over the brim of her mug, looking surprised “You haven’t heard?”

“No, why, should I?”

She looked awkward and embarrassed but explained nonetheless “Its been all over the papers since you got published. They’ve been writing articles about you a lot – unfortunately not all of it is very nice…”

Newt was baffled “About me? What does it say?”

Bunty’s discomfiture increased as she fiddled with her cup, Newt having set his own down in the sink behind him, arms crossed across his chest. “Um, they’ve been talking about your um… well your um romantic life… in the Daily Prophet – Witch Weekly too. Lots in there.” She flushed brighter than ever. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

Newt flushed red himself and then cursed under his breath for not being more up to date with news lately, feeling growing suspicion as he realised that every time he had been to Theseus’ house recently the usual spread of newspapers had been noticeably absent. He hadn’t thought much of it until now, but then realised that it was more than likely that his elder brother, Percival and friends may well have been attempting to prevent him from seeing such articles.  Bunty must’ve seen the frustration on his face as she hastily placed down her cup noisily on the side and headed for the front door, calling a quick goodbye and apology behind her. He felt a bit guilty for startling her but felt a sudden, Theseus-like urge to throw something overcome him so realised it was probably best that she left. The lack of sleep over the past few days and the ever-weighing guilt had left him hazy and more irritable than usual and he knew that Bunty certainly deserve being snapped at like that.

Glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall he saw that it was nearly half-six in the evening – about the usual time that Theseus would be returning home should no emergencies crop up and he resolutely set his shoulders, summoning his coat to his hand, slipping it on and headed for the door too. He apparated once outside, arriving outside the regency townhouse his brother owned and for once had the politeness to knock – having had enough unpleasant walk-ins on Theseus and Tina to know better by now. He heard no reply and was about to leave when the door opened, and he found himself balking at who stood there.  

“L-leta?”

She smiled at him softly, a bit sadly and clearly surprised, holding the door open for him to come in, he hesitated, perplexed and eyes glued to her stylish black and silver T-strap shoes. “What’re you doing here?”

He glanced up briefly “I could ask you the same, where’s Theseus?”  

She bit her lip lightly, still smiling and stepped back “Won’t you come in?” Glancing about the street, Newt did so, and she closed the door behind him. Though Newt made sure to keep his hand on his wand just in case, he doubted he’d need to use it, it was only Leta after all, but it didn’t hurt to be careful. They entered Theseus’ living room and Leta sat primly on the nearest armchair, legs neatly together and red silk dress immaculate, hair scraped back from her pretty face and large brown eyes careful and guarded as ever. Newt hovered by the entryway, unsure, case in hand and gaze fixated on her shoes still until he saw her gesture towards the chair opposite her and he sat tentatively on the very edge, case still gripped tight.

“What’re you doing here, Leta?” He repeated softly

“I came to speak with Theseus of course, and to recover some of my things that I left behind. But I’m glad I ran into you – I was planning on stopping over soon.”

“You were?” Newt asked, doubtful and caught between perplexed and discomfort at seeing her again after such a long time – in his brother’s house no doubt. “How did you get in here?”

“With all the… difficulties between us, I never gave my key back – another reason I came.”  

“Oh, right.” He mumbled, feeling decidedly off-footed with the whole situation, unsure of how to respond – half of him wanted to confront her for what she did to Theseus and the other half wanted to offer comfort as her friend. It was conflicting and confusing. He glanced up again to see her watching carefully, oddly. “What did you want to talk about?”

“What, after all that’s happened you didn’t think I’d be worried about you?”

He fixed her with a puzzled look then, surprising both with the intensity of it. “Why now?”

She seemed to consider that for a moment before replying “Everyone at the Ministry has been talking about the articles concerning you – especially the one that came out yesterday and I thought I’d come to see if you were alright.”

Bloody articles, he was somewhat glad that Bunty had made him aware of them just before she did so that he wasn’t completely off-footed by hearing of it. “What exactly do these articles say? I haven’t had the chance to read any yet?”

She looked slightly abashed but curious too “Well you’re a celebrity now Newt – famous author and all that – well done on that by the way.” She smiled encouragingly before continued “There’s going to be intrigue about you, and your association with American Aurors hasn’t gone unnoticed by anyone, especially after that disastrous book signing.” At Newt’s questioning gaze she shook her head dismissively and tutted a little “Everyone heard about that Newt – people being thrown out of Flourish and Blott’s by Aurors raises a lot of gossip and so does a rampaging beast sighted nearby.”

“Henry wasn’t rampaging – he was being hunted, he could help it.” Newt protested and she smiled tolerantly, a bit fondly.

“I’m sure you had _Henry_ well in hand but that’s beside the point – the rumours are mainly concerning you and one Percival Graves.”

Oh dear.

“Um…” Newt swallowed, unable to meet her eyes or even her shoes this time, gazing off to the ticking clock on the mantelpiece. “What exactly do these rumours say?”

She sounded mildly amused though restrained in it as she replied, “That you’ve been seen in his company a great deal and that he already has a… reputation amongst the American wizarding community with dallying with younger men – seducing them.”    

Newt fought off a hysterical snort of laughter and ducked his head, flushing slightly “Oh, is that what they say?”

“Yes, yes, it is Newt, and you should be more careful about this sort of thing – it could ruin your reputation and not to mention the danger you’re putting yourself in. People can get very worked up about this sort of things – you could become a target for any idiot trying to get at this Graves character or just someone with a grudge against queers.”

“You sound like Theseus.”

He saw her lip curl and he winced slightly but managed to guide his eyes to her general direction as she glared at him “I’m being serious, Newt – this sort of thing could ruin your life in more ways than one. I’m sure that the rumours are completely baseless, and you need to prove that to people.”     

Unexpectedly, Newt felt irritation rise in his chest and he raised to challenge her eyes with his own – once again seeming to surprise her. “What makes you so sure they’re baseless?”

She looked flustered and mildly affronted “Well you’re- well you’re Newt! When have you ever shown any interest in _anyone_? People instead of creatures? Let alone someone like _that_?”   

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Leta’s face adopted an expression that implied she was trying to explain something delicate but painfully simple to a child and a part of him bristled slightly at the patronising tone. “I know that you went through quite the ordeal with Grindelwald and that your new ‘friends’ have been supportive since then, but you shouldn’t let yourself be led on like this by this Graves. I’ve heard some unsavoury rumours about him, and I just don’t want you to be dragged into something you can’t get out of.”

“Percival isn’t ‘dragging me into anything’ and while I… appreciate your concern, I don’t really see how our relationship is any of your business.” He stated firmly, standing and regarding her coldly – he felt an uncharacteristic urge to protect his partner when he was being challenged like this. It evoked something in him that helped abate his usual awkwardness and to stiffen his resolve. “Especially not after happened between you and Theseus.”

“That’s not really relevant is it, Newt?” She snapped, standing too, shoulders tense and doe-like eyes indignant enough so that he felt a stab of guilt.

“I’m sorry about what happened and for bringing it up, but I don’t think that Theseus would appreciate you turning up here like this.”

She scowled at him in a most uncharacteristic manner “What, because he brings his American tramp here?”

Newt flushed red with indignation and anger “Tina isn’t a tramp – she’s my friend and I really think you should leave.”

She looked ready to snap right back at him before she ducked her head, biting her lip and raised her eyes again in the way that always implored Newt to look past her sharp words and forgive her. He felt his resolve soften just a little but found that the historically effective look had much less of a result than it once would have. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for, its just been… difficult since we broke it off and I’m sure you of all people can appreciate how hard it can be to see someone move on without you. Having it paraded around right in front of your face.”

Newt averted his gaze, head slumping to study his own hand “I don’t know what you mean.” He felt her study him for some time before sighing and reaching forward to grip the hand he was examining so avidly, he flinched slightly and froze as she brought the appendage over to hover just above her chest, clasped in both of her own.  

“What happened here?” He flinched again, this time more violently and hastily withdrew his hand, shaking his sleeve as far down over the markings as he could. The unfortunate wording and noticing of the scars sparking a familiar agitation inside him.  

“Nothing.” He quickly racked his brains for a change of topic and found one in the form of what he had scheduled for the next morning – to sit in on Credence’s first lesson with Dumbledore. “Have you managed to sort out all the... problems with Corvus yet?”

Her dark eyes clouded instantly, and he felt guilt mix with his genuine curiosity as she replied in a low tone “Not that anyone is willing to listen to me that the Obscurial boy isn’t my brother – he _can’t_ be. I found the proof in my family’s vault but still no one believes me, not unless-” Leta cut herself abruptly and her eyes sharpened, though stayed dark as ever.

“Unless what?” She looked up at him abruptly then, eyes shining with an odd, desperate sort of hope as she took a step closer.

“Would you be willing to help me, Newt? Please?”

The wizard in question was taken aback by the abruptness but felt the familiar concern for her rekindle in his chest and he nodded hesitantly. Leta never begged, so whatever it was must be important to warrant such a response. “What with?”

“I’ve spoken with a reporter, Newt, at The Daily Prophet and she promised me that she would publish an article supporting my claims that the Obscurial isn’t my brother. It would go a long way to sorting the problems I’ve been having since those stupid rumours started.”

Newt blinked, confused “Right, um, how can I help with that exactly?”

She looked almost apprehensive as she replied, “She asked if I could get some gossip fodder for her… about you and if I confirmed a few rumours for her she would publish my story.”

Newt blanched “What did she want you to find out?”    

“Just to find out how you were involved in taking Grindelwald down – twice! It could make you a hero, Newt, could get your book more acclaim and people might like to see the man behind the beasts – you could get recognition for what you’ve done. People like to hear about this sort of thing. They might be more willing to look at creatures like you do if they think you’re a hero.”

Newt shook his head violently before she even finished speaking, feeling alarm rise up in him in nauseating waves “No, no, I don’t want that. I’m sorry Leta but I can’t do that.”

She used that will-eroding, pleading look again but this time her doe-like eyes were tainted with a darker desperation. “Come on, Newt! Its just one article – they’re already writing about you anyway; why not give them the truth?”

“I said no, I’m sorry, I really wish I could help but I _can’t_.”    

She grabbed his hand in a surprisingly rough gesture in her desperation, tears glittering in her eyes that left Newt feeling guiltier still but no less resolute. “Newt, I need this, please – I can’t move on with my life until these rumours go away – I need your help.”

“Move on? What do you mean?”

She bit her lip, holding his hand to her chest once more and looking up at him with deliberately beseeching eyes. “Finnis’ family won’t accept our marriage proposal until the rumours surrounding my family proven false – they don’t want their name tainted by such nonsense.”

Newt paled with anger as he realised what she was implying “You’re re-marrying? For blood? And you want me to help you do it? Hurt Theseus?”

“Oh, like he even cares anymore! He’s got his American Auror girl.” She snapped, stepping in closer than Newt was comfortable with.

“He loved you, Leta. You broke his heart with what you did, and he did what he thought he had to do to piece it back together and now you’re just going to marry the next rich pureblood who walks along?”

“And what about you, Newt? I know you cared about me in the same way once. You can’t honestly tell me that’s all gone away now.” He felt his throat tighten and close up, heart hammering as he felt an old, deeply buried pang that he had worked so hard to ignore and had been successful in doing so. “I’m sure you’re very confused right now but I need your help in this Newt. I may have done some wicked things, but it never stopped you from caring before. Can’t you help me one last time? Please?”       

“I-…” Newt couldn’t seem to produce words and shook his dizzy mind, trying again to gently extricate himself from her grip and the proximity but she held on, her eyes begging, and lips parted slightly. Queenie’s words from so long ago played in his mind suddenly – _She’s a taker; you need a giver._ He looked at her repentantly but assuredly in his denial. “I think you need to leave.”

“Newt, please-” Leta began but he carefully removed her grip on his and stood back, pacing to the front door and opening it, looking at the floor near her feet and gesturing for her to leave – not able to meet her eyes but wanting to avoid a scene. He heard her clear her throat, saw her straighten her clothing unnecessarily and felt her stalk to the doorstep in a furious, forcibly dignified manner. “Fine. Please give Theseus my regards and _this_.” She snapped, voice tight as she pushed a key into his hand which he took a little numbly just as a crack of apparition sounded behind him and Theseus appeared in the hall. Leta barely spared a glance back before she too apparated, disappearing in a swirl of red silk.

“Hang on, was that Leta? What was she doing here? What are _you_ doing here for that matter?” Theseus’ tone was tight and hurt sounding as Newt took longer than needed in closing the door behind her, turning to regard his brother with a troubled expression.

“She was just returning this.” He murmured distractedly, pressing the key into his brother’s hand before stepping past him back into the living room, glancing about for a copy of the Daily Prophet but sighing irritably when he didn’t find one. Newt turned back to his elder sibling with a fixed look. “When were you going to tell me about the articles?”

“What articles?” Theseus asked, too quickly to be believable and Newt eyed his brother’s neat briefcase which he was clutching a little too tightly. The young magizoologist sighed, placing down his own case before pointing a hand at the case and mumbling “ _Accio_ Daily Prophet.”  True to his suspicions the case opened, and a paper flew out into his hand despite Theseus’ delayed attempt to grab for it. Newt shook out the paper and looked at the picture of himself at the book-signing smiling awkwardly at a young fan taking up a corner of the front page, labelled as story continued on page four. He opened it to the relevant page and saw a full-page article with the same picture topping it but this time with a formal one of Percival beside it and titled “ _Notorious recluse and critter-chaser Newton Scamander rumoured to be involved with MACUSA director – Truth or Toad-swill?”_

He shook his head at both the article and the annoyed, reluctant look on his brother’s face, he held up the paper with a rustle and crinkle of crushed paper as his scarred hand gripped it a little too tightly. “Theseus, you have got to stop treating me like I’m incapable - hiding these things from me won’t make them any less true. I don’t care about what people think; you should know that by now. I just want to be left alone but covering this up isn’t going to help anything.”

Theseus sighed irritably “You _should_ care, Newt. You’re already in a lot of danger without flaunting this sort of thing.”  

“Flaunting?” Newt said incredulously “I have barely left the house for months and even when I do, I’m hardly ‘ _flaunting_ ’ anything.”

“Well obviously _someone_ is picking up on _something_ otherwise these rumours wouldn’t be spreading.” Theseus snapped. “Graves’ reputation isn’t helping matters either, I’ve had to convince my colleagues for months that he isn’t using me through you to get at some sort of foothold in the Ministry. Most of them don’t believe he was ever impersonated and that he’s just a Grindelwald sympathiser who made it up to get out of punishment – now I know that’s probably not true but its not making my life any easier.”

“That’s ridiculous, Percival isn’t using anyone and I’m as damn sure as I can possibly be that he isn’t a Grindelwald sympathizer.”    

“I’m sure you’re probably right as much as I hate the bloke, I’ve seen him in action and I truly doubt anyone could fake the ferocity he put into attacking the bastard.”

“Then why don’t you just tell that? Why should it matter what I do in _my_ private life to you or them?” 

“These things are complicated, Newt, I tried to tell you.”

“Yes, I remember, on many occasions but why can’t I just go about living my life without all this nonsense?”

Theseus looked mildly pained as he replied “I was trying to make sure that you could do that – its why I asked everyone to not mention it to-”

Newt cut across him “Even Percival?”

“Yes, he agreed that it would be for the best.”

Newt shook his head in irritated exasperation “For the love of Paracelsus! Is there anyone who isn’t keeping things from me or trying to decide what I should or shouldn’t do?”

“Newt, stop it, you can’t say that our concern is unwarranted, and you haven’t exactly done anything to help any of this have you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”   

Theseus seemed to snap from long-held tension in that moment.     

"You're practically painting a huge bloody target on your back for every opinionated member of the wizarding community! First the business in New York, then with your part in defeating Grindelwald _again_! The mess at the signing! Not to mention your association with a known muggle/witch coupling. Your interference with poachers and beast collectors over the years...you and your bloody beasts! The family history...and now adding an openly queer relationship on top of it?? Do you really have a death wish, Newt? Cause at this point I'd be more than happy to oblige!" 

Newt stared at him, thoroughly taken aback – the last time Theseus had gotten this incensed it had been after his expulsion and he had had to duck out of the house as his brother had levitated almost every object within reach at him. He glanced towards where Theseus’ hand was twitching towards his wand and fixed his brother with an unusually hard, hurt look that seemed to make him think better of it as his expression soften and he sighed. The elder Scamander slumped down into the armchair Leta had so recently vacated, deflating completely and pressing a weary hand to his forehead and eyes. Newt stood, back straight, shoulders slumped, and eyes fixed on Theseus’ exhausted looking figure, fighting his own weariness at the sight of another looking so drained. After a few minutes, just as Newt was about to turn and leave, he heard a tired, repentant voice sound from the chair.

“I’m sorry Arty, I… didn’t mean that.” Newt paused only because of the nickname he hadn’t heard since he was ten years old. An abbreviation of his already ridiculous middle-name that Theseus had only ever used to either contradictorily irritate or soothe Newt. The last time he had used it was when he had awoken in St Mungos after the incident that sent their father to Azkaban. The significance of its use now let Newt know that his brother was truly contrite – that he had only said those horrible things out of frustration and fatigue. He turned and smiled, softly, a bit brokenly at Theseus and nodded very slightly.

“I know.”        

He looked incredibly hesitant as he slid the hand from his forehead to his mouth, almost muffling the words that left him in a vague manner “Leta… what did she want? Why was she here?”

“She… was looking for you. Just wanted to check on you I expect. I only passed her on her way out.” He murmured, not wanting taint Theseus’ fond memories of her further with her desperation and selfish request. Theseus regarded him for a few moments before nodding softly and sliding down further in the chair, seeming to accept the answer. “Get some rest Thee, you look awful.”

Without even opening his eyes, Theseus grinned hazily and muttered. “Rich coming from you, sarky git.” Newt chuckled slightly and left the house, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece as he did so and noticed that it was nearly seven-thirty already. He became painfully aware of how long it had been since he last slept and sighed in resignation as he realised that he needed to sleep sooner rather than later. He was only human after all. All he wanted to do in that moment was curl up in Percival’s arms and let his worry and tension leak away with every moment of warm contact and lazy kisses. But Percival wasn’t there – he was thousands of miles away and as short as the distance was to a normal wizard, Newt had never felt the strain of his travel ban until that moment.             

Newt stepped out into the light summer rain that was falling, apparating back to his own doorstep and heading inside with a heavy sensation settling on his chest to match the one dragging on his eyelids. He had forgone wearing pyjamas since he returned from the clinic in Austria as he didn’t like the idea of being around Grindelwald in anything less than full dress, so in preparation to give in to the inevitable, he simply shucked off his coat, boots and flopped onto his bed. He pulled his tie loose and unticked his shirt a bit clumsily, throwing the stray garments to the chair near his bed. Newt tugged the covers over him and curled up in a tight ball, shivering slightly even though the woollen blanket was warm enough, dreading the moment he would close his eyes and be once again faced with the subject of his crushing, tight ball of guilt that resided in his gut.

Eventually he drew up enough courage to let his eyes slip closed, scrunching them tightly as the all-too familiar sensation of dropping through the mattress, the floor and then the cold stone ceiling washed over him. The young magizoologist opened his eyes again after a few moments of blessed silence when it was broken by the gentle thump of leather boots shifting on the floor. It was a quiet sound, but it still alerted him to the other’s presence in an undeniable way, that he was there, and he was awake; in fact, come to think of it, he couldn’t think of a time when Gellert had been sleeping. Did he time his own rest around Newt’s visits? He must have to sleep at some point after all, or did this happen in the wizard’s own dreams? There were so many things that he was still unsure about concerning the terms of Gellert’s captivity and his more... human needs but had never asked because he was concerned that the wizard might mistake it for concern or pity. He supposed that there was little harm in asking such things now, what with the extremely dubiously consented… closeness that had sprung up between them.  

So, as he took his customary position sat against the wall opposite the dark wizard, bringing his hands to the tops of his knees to fiddle absently with one another, he ventured a question into the silence. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

He heard a sigh of breath from across the room but didn’t dare look over, keeping his eyes on his twined, fumbling hands “Of course I do, however I would have thought that sleeping through your visits would be considered rude.”

“More a welcome reprieve actually, but I suppose it’s all a bit irrelevant at this point.”

The second huff of breath was more humoured than the last and Newt risked a brief glance over to see him sitting in a similar position to Newt though without the slump to his shoulders, the man’s natural confidence as strong as ever despite the distracted look on his face. “You still insist on feigning disinterest even after out last encounter then?”

Newt flushed with equal parts humiliation and indignation “That was wasn’t interest, Gellert, that was trying to save myself and my friends.”

“From dear Credence.”

Newt’s head snapped up “You knew what was happening?”

Gellert laughed softly, regarding Newt through his lashes, head tilted to the side in a condescending manner “Of course I did. It was why I was confident that you were safe – the only ones in any real danger were your companions.”

“That doesn’t change anything – I still would’ve made the same deal.”

“I know you would have, that’s why I didn’t see any need to mention it at the time. You were in no danger as you weren’t there physically from the moment I pulled you into my realm.”

Newt felt a jolt shoot though him at the implications but once again averted his gaze back down, this time focussing upon his own socked feet, tapping them soundlessly against the stone beneath in a nervous, irregular rhythm. “Then why did you let me go?” The question was quiet and blurted out.

“Because you asked me to.” Gellert stated simply, quirking one pale brow as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and Newt felt familiar indignation, discomfort and irritation at the dark wizard’s presumptuous behaviour towards him.

“Since when has my opinion mattered to you? In my experience you just take what you want without waiting for permission.”

“As much as you pretend not to notice, Newt, I haven’t done anything irreparable to anything that you really care about – your creatures are safe and your family, friends and even your besotted Auror are intact. I would never harm anything that turn you away from me permanently even if that means leaving your current lover unharmed for the time being. Unlike him I hold the capacity to recognise that the long game is what truly matters – he may be what you think you want right now but time will only serve to work in my favour.” He tilted his head in a smooth, oddly fluid movement, pale face almost illuminated by the odd glow in his mismatched eyes. “You may want to believe that he is the one you want, but we both know what you felt with me was real enough in its own right.”

“No, it wasn’t – what you felt or _thought_ you may have felt was simply my concern for Percival and Tina that I channelled into something to make sure you didn’t back out of your end of the deal on some stupid technicality.”    

“If that’s what you choose to believe, Liebling, then that is your mistake, but you seem to forget that I _know_ just what you feel but with the benefit of a clearer perspective.” His voice was alarmingly calm and measured when he spoke, it made it more difficult to ignore his words when he was like this – when he wasn’t overwhelming Newt with intensity or manic passion. It made it seem so much more… reasonable, like _Newt_ was the one being ridiculous, like _he_ was the one being stubborn and delusional. He pressed his eyes shut, rubbing at his smarting temples with a thumb and forefinger, he was far too tired to be dealing with this now – was it really so much to ask that he could sleep and escape from his problems for just a few hours? _Well evidently yes, Merlin knows you should be used to it by now._

“ _Shut up_.” In his irritation Newt made the mistake of growling his response out loud, though it was quiet Gellert obviously still heard as he let out a surprised huff of laughter. Newt glanced through the shield of his hand and saw the elder fixing him with an oddly bemused expression – probably thought that Newt was responding to his words so bluntly because he couldn’t refute them.

“Long day I take it?” Gellert asked in a deceptively light tone and Newt grimaced

“Not particularly, though more eventful than yours I’d imagine.”     

“Was that I joke I just heard, Newton? Really I would’ve thought better of you than to mock a man in captivity.” He spoke with mock affront, but his lips were curved in a genuinely amused smile.

“Maybe. But I have found myself wondering what you actually _do_ in here every day. I would imagine there’s ample opportunity for nefarious plotting but not much chance to enact any of it.”

“’Nefarious plotting’ is it now? Do you not imagine I have better things to do than that? Many things can be achieved in isolation.”

“Such as?”

“Considering matters that might otherwise escape your attention, things that most would avoid contemplating in depth.” He looked at Newt in a meaningful manner which Newt just as purposefully ignored, Gellert sighed and reverted to the lighter tone of conversation as he seemed to realise Newt was in no mood for his insinuations. “Reading passes the time – thank you for that by the way.” He shot Newt a brief smirk which Newt ducked his head away from before continuing. “I’ve also found some time to pick up an old hobby of mine, one that I believe you once held an interest in too in your younger years.”

Newt’s lip curled doubtfully, and he released a snort of derision “I doubt very much that you have any interest in creatures seeing as how you seem to enjoy murdering them just as much as you do people.”

He fixed Newt with a scornful look - as if Newt were being unspeakably rude by bringing up his deplorable character and the young magizoologist refused to deign that with any sign of apology. Gellert instead continued as if Newt hadn’t spoke “I was referring to music. I understand that you have a gifted voice.”

Newt flushed lightly and shook his head minutely “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Oh no? From what I’ve seen of your childhood you seemed to enjoy it very much.” He smiled almost fondly, reminiscently as he clearly dredged up the stolen memories in his own mind making Newt flush pink. “You used to perch up in one of the trees in your garden with your little Bowtruckle friends and sing your little heart out when it was busy enough around so that you thought you wouldn’t be heard. You used to sing to your creatures to soothe them to sleep when they were sick or agitated. So sweet. A shame really that you don’t do so anymore.”

Newt felt himself flush darker in humiliation and indignation at the further invasion of some of the more pleasant childhood memories he still had – that Gellert had been into them without his realisation and was now bringing them up to force some sort of affectionate bond between them again. “Stay _out_ of my head.”       

Gellert looked amused “Rather a redundant request don’t you think, Newt? Hypocritical too come to mention it – you’ve gone digging through my memories have you not? Ones that I would call far more personal than the ones I have seen in you.”

“The difference is that I didn’t _mean_ to go looking through _anything_ and I certainly don’t try to use it to pretend to actually know you.”  

“And why not?”

Newt’s forced sense of patience snapped then and so did he as he stood, pushing himself from the wall and glaring at the unconcerned seeming wizard. “Because I don’t want to see any more of that diseased, deranged mind than I already have.”  

Gellert’s darker eye twitched slightly at that and he rose to his feet but in a sliding, smooth movement that managed to still look furious in its elegance. “You of all people should recognise that just because a man has ideas that plumb the true depths of a situation it does not mean that he is insane.”

“There’s a difference between sticking to your beliefs and true delusion and you have done nothing at all to convince me you haven’t crossed that line long ago.” Newt spoke with unusual fervour, the kind that he usually reserved for defending his creatures but felt flowing through his speech now, every muscle in him knotting and fists clenching lightly at his side. “Despite everything you have done and how I’ve responded to it, you still don’t seem to realise that I don’t care for you. I _tolerate_ your presence because you haven’t given me any choice in the matter. I agreed to host the pact because I thought it would kill me – I thought that I wouldn’t have to live with anything like _this_. But then I decided that I wasn’t going to let you monopolise my life and I don’t intend to encourage you in this any more than I already have. I would very much appreciate it if you let me do that.” He took a deep breath in through his nose, his teeth having clenched together as he met Gellert’s surprised eyes “I’ll even agree to continue speaking with you if that’s what you need to alleviate your boredom, but I won’t ever feel the same way I do about Percival for you. Please just accept that.”   

Gellert seemed to consider that for a few moments before he tilted his head “Amicable conversation then? Is that what you are proposing, Newton?”

Newt eyed him suspiciously at his apparent compliance and nodded “Nothing more.”

“Very well, as long as you promise to do me the common decency of being honest with me, I might consider allowing you some occasional solitude in return.”

Feeling off-footed and even more suspicious he nodded warily at the possibility of some reprieve from his invaded sleep. “I think we both know that the bond won’t allow either of us to get away with any less.”       

“I was more referring to the finer points of a lack of honesty through evasion.”

Newt glared but nodded nonetheless, sensing that he likely wasn’t going to get a better offer than this. “I won’t tell you anything that could hurt any of my friends.”

Gellert’s smile was tight but tolerant “I would expect no less.”

“Just so we’re clear.” They lapsed into silence for some time after that, Newt standing awkwardly, regarding the other with doubtful eyes before sitting back in his previous position. He felt exasperated though decidedly unsurprised when Gellert came to sit beside him, side of his knee just brushing his own, the magizoologist carefully moved it away, not enough to be overly noticeable but enough so that the contact was no longer made. He felt Gellert’s eyes on him and shifted uncomfortably under the gaze, face heating further before he finally tilted his head a little to acknowledge the other man.

“So, um… what did you want to talk about?” He mumbled, averting eye contact and unsure of how to initiate the newfound… whatever this was. Forced amicability? Dejected acceptance? _Submitting to the inevitable?_ Newt twitched at the last suggestion and pressed his eyes momentarily closed, blinking rapidly and focussing on his knotted hands atop his knees once more, pressing a thumb softly into the scars. Not in the way he once might have to alleviate painful memories but more out of nervousness and reflex.  

He heard Gellert huff a breath of amused air, saw the elder wizard lightly trail an absent finger, long and pale along the laces of his cumbersome looking boots, tracing the webbing of bootlaces from top to bottom in an almost casual manner. “As you have so crudely pointed out already, Newton, very little occurs in here of any note outside your visits. I’m sure your experiences will prompt far more scintillating conversation than my own.”

“Well… Henry is doing well thanks to regular doses of dittany and a bit of rest. He was tired after being chased around a whole continent – he was injured and weak so it took him longer than it should have to get around.” Creatures seemed like a relatively safe topic to Newt and it was one he was always eager to talk about and maybe with any luck it might have the same effect on Gellert as it did on others. He might get bored with Newt and decide to leave him alone – it was unlikely, and Newt was disheartened to see that Gellert was nodding with apparent interest. Nevertheless, the young magizoologist continued, feeling more comfortable rambling on about his creatures than sitting in awkward, unnerving silence with the other wizard so close to him. Silence usually meant that Gellert was brewing something in his twisted mind and he didn’t want to give him an opportunity to let it lose any more than he could help. “I’ve had to keep him separate and warded because he doesn’t seem to get along very well with any of the others yet; probably because of their physiological and geographical differences. It might take him a while to get used to it before I can introduce him to any of the others – Dougal first perhaps as he has a habit for looking after other creatures, might make it a bit easier. That and his ability to see the most immediate future, have to admit that he helped me out of tight spots more than a few times… got me into a few too.” He chuckled slightly under his breath, uneasily and a tad unsteady.  

“Dougal is the Demiguise I take it?” Gellert asked and Newt nodded, slightly surprised that the wizard would be able to identify the species from his vague description. Whilst it was true that very few creatures held that ability of precognition, he was surprised that Gellert knew enough about any to make such an educated guess. His befuddlement must have shown on his face as Gellert breathed out another laugh. “I take a great interest in any beings that share something close to a Seers gift and Demiguise are one of the few I have come across in my studies.”

Newt nodded in understanding “I suppose that makes sense.” He paused, eying Gellert through the corner of his vision. “When did you first discover that you had the Seers ability? Were you very young?”

Gellert looked mildly taken aback by the question but masked it by replying almost immediately, brows smoothing out again. “I began seeing glimpses of the future when I was perhaps eight years old, but it wasn’t until I had mastered my magical abilities many years later that I began to fully understand what I was experiencing and how to project and interpret them.”

“What sorts of things did you see?” Newt asked, feeling genuine curiosity itching at him and Gellert surprised him further by replying too, eyes darker than usual, fixed and with a fierce, sad glint to them.

“War. Death. Carnage. All the things that would be allowed to happen should the Ministries continue to reign in the way they do, if we continue to scuttle in the shadows and hide the truth of the world from Muggles. I saw what would happen to our world and theirs should it be allowed to continue. Weapons of mass destruction to rival even that of magic but without the simultaneous capacity for good. All they can do is destroy – even when they begin to develop technology that can bring them forwards, they still use it to damage each other. Magic holds a superior power – one that can be capable of so much more. Healing and destruction. Alteration and sustenance. A force older than any of us that keeps the world in balance – or _should_.” His lip curled in cold fury “Magic could be what saves us all; wizards, Muggles and creatures alike yet we are forced to hide it for fear of agitating the volatile element in our system of living. I saw that the world _had_ to change.”            

Newt was silent for some time, taking in the grim image that Gellert had painted even if he had already been aware of it, he hadn’t ever imagined that Grindelwald had seen these things from such a young and impressionable age. No wonder he had been so affected by it – a young boy trapped in a loveless family, gifted and haunted by visions that he didn’t and _couldn’t_ understand with no one to explain to him that things _could_ be better. Just a cynical, bleak, horrific outlook on life right from the very start. “What an awful thing to be forced on a child.” His voice was quiet and Gellert’s head jerked around to face him, jaw set tight and eyes astounded though still dark.

“Perhaps…” He conceded, very, very quietly before his gaze hardened once more. “I now realise that it was a gift however – that I needed to see those things to make the better future for all of wizardkind. I needed to be shown such images so that I was hardened against the crimes that others were capable of; so that I could do what was needed with no fear of the cost.”

Newt turned away then, feeling the veil slip back over Gellert – the self-righteous soldier, the fascist fanatic – the man that couldn’t be reasoned with. He edged that little bit further away along the wall and froze when he felt a hand on his wrist. The grip wasn’t tight, but it prompted him to look back at Gellert in surprise and with apprehension bubbling inside him, the other wizard’s expression wasn’t unsettling in an obvious way – no hint of malice but instead an odd sort of apology in it. As if he had realised that he had made Newt uncomfortable with the direction their conversation had taken and regretted bringing up such a dead-end for himself in the younger’s eyes. He knew that Newt would not agree with him on that so thankfully chose to change the topic.

“You keep a Kelpie if I’m not mistaken?” Newt jerked slightly, surprised and he pulled his wrist back slowly; Gellert let him.

“Oh, uh yes, Marius… rescued him about… um four years ago now I think, he’s recovering well even if we still have to salve his wounds to keep them healthy.” He blinked a few times and edged his gaze back to Gellert’s in questioning. “How did you-?”

“You know that I can sense when you experience great surges of emotion but not just negative ones. You seem to be happiest when you are with your beasts and I couldn’t help but be caught in your enthusiasm when you swam with him.”

Newt blushed, a bit flustered and concerned at the implications “You can sense anything then?”

Gellert smirked slightly in response but looked equal parts smug and something that was almost uncomfortable. “Spikes in emotion, yes, and I must say that you seem to experience them much more dramatically than either I or Albus.”

Newt flushed darker, shifting uncomfortably on the spot, again edging further away from the other, almost shuttled into the corner but also consciously trying to avoid that. “Is there no way that you could perhaps… ignore them?”

“Perhaps, but I don’t really want to for the most part. It’s interesting to watch your life through such moments – I must admit that the world looks pleasantly… lighter through your eyes. Even if it is tainted heavily by dear Percy’s presence.”

“Gellert…” Newt growled, low and a bit quiet under his breath, warning the wizard off but he seemed amused by this and shook his head slightly.

“It’s part of what convinces me that you aren’t truly as interested in him as much as you claim to be – you’ve yet to experience any real pleasure with him from what I’ve gathered. Makes one wonder just what has you holding back in such a way… perhaps because you know deep down that he isn’t what you want.”

Newt was blushing bright crimson right to the roots of his hair by this point, hands fiddling almost spasmodically in his lap, feeling shudders of familiar shame and fear curling inside him. He ventured no response and _felt_ Gellert smile. “My relationship with Percival is none of your business.” It was alarming how often he had been saying that lately but as it was true he couldn’t think of saying it more politely – not that Grindelwald deserved any such courtesies

“On the contrary, I believe that it most certainly _is;_ if not only for my unwanted involvement in the matter but because of my affection for you, dearest.”

“We’re going to talk about unwanted involvement are we now, Gellert?” Newt found himself snapping back, tone biting at the invasion into verbal territories that he had thought were scored as off limits – evidently, he had been mistaken. _Why are you even surprised at this point?_  

“At least you haven’t had to witness the awkward fumblings between two men who clearly aren’t well-suited to one another. I had really expected better from Percy but clearly, he doesn’t know how to handle something more precious than a random fling with a stranger. He should realise that you require _undivided_ attention.”

Newt flushed bright crimson with indignation and humiliation at the idea that Gellert had witnessed… had witnessed… oh no. The idea of Gellert witnessing every sweet, awkward, intimate moment between him and Percival and interpreted their slow pace and hesitations as a failure in the relationship – it was mortifying. He stood up abruptly, or at least tried to, Gellert caught his wrist once more – his right thankfully – and pulled him back down, angling his fall so that Newt was knelt awkwardly on one knee, the other between Gellert’s slightly parted legs and his upper body pulled close to Gellert’s. The elder tilted Newt’s chin up with the other hand to meet those intense mismatched eyes, he was breathing hard, could feel his heart hammering loud in his ears and chest even as he managed to find the breath to speak. “Gellert, let go of me, _now_.”    

“Don’t pretend that you don’t enjoy a little roughness, Liebling. I know it’s what your _dalliances_ with your dear Percy are lacking – you want him to abandon the softer behaviour and take over don’t you? But just like everyone else he instead treats you like you’re made of glass. Such a waste.” His grip tightened, almost painful now as he tilted Newt’s chin up to a tighter angle, stretching the muscles in it taut and eying it with apparent interest. He reached down with that same hand to stroke a patch of skin near his collarbone, Newt’s breath hitching tightly in his chest as he remembered exactly _what_ had once resided there. The young magizoologist let out a humiliating sound that could have called a whimper as he tried to pull back, but the awkward angle Gellert had him at left him vulnerable as the man’s boot-clad foot lashed out in a calculated kick that sent him down onto his other knee. He cried out but it was more in desperation than in pain, tugging back strongly to right himself, to get out of the grip, to do _anything_. Newt felt the desperation fuel the fire within his left arm and it began to glow of its own accord, muscles tensing with power. He felt hope shoot though him until Gellert let out a low growl and pulled Newt so that the dark wizard’s lips were right by his ear. “Do you really want to bother Albus with your petty grievances again? With what you’ve done? With what we’ve both _enjoyed?”_

Newt opened his mouth to protest, to say that Albus was his friend and that he would step in on Newt’s behalf if he needed him to – and Merlin did he want him to – but then he stopped. Gellert was right; Albus surely had enough to deal with, especially with Credence and the last time Newt had inadvertently called upon the bond in the way he was now Dumbledore had not been at all sympathetic or patient with Newt’s foolishness. He didn’t want to disappoint or bother the man further with the situations he had gotten himself into. Albus had already warned him on multiple occasions to stay away from Gellert and not to be dragged into his little games but he had already gone and done the exact opposite despite his best efforts. He couldn’t face the other man knowing that he would know exactly what had gone on between him and Gellert because Newt had been stupid enough to let it.

Not to mention the fact that this strange silver magic was unpredictable and seemed to tighten the bonds between him and Gellert each time he used it – the last time had resulted in the mark growing and apparently a deeper emotional connection too. He couldn’t risk it; what if he started another fire like last time? He was alone in his house apart from his creatures, his brother had removed the wards on it and Percival was still in America. Even if anyone of them _did_ catch wind of any trouble, it likely wouldn’t be in time to save his creatures from whatever physical real-world consequences the magic could have. He couldn’t risk it.

Newt instead resorted for physical strength, which while he wasn’t as weak as his slim frame might imply, still wasn’t enough to overcome Gellert’s leverageable angle or his stockier build. Who knows, maybe it was to do with his superior magical strength too. But whatever it was, Newt found that he couldn’t remove the grip on his wrist or pull enough away so that Gellert’s lips and teeth couldn’t find his skin again. He made his mark in the same place as he had before, digging teeth in and sucking, leaving a bruising, slightly bloody mark in his wake that had tears pricking Newt’s eyes as memories flickered dizzyingly fast behind them. The marking turned into lighter kisses that peppered up the side of jaw up to his lips where he initiated a much more brutal kiss than the last one had been, and Newt’s senses were overwhelmed with that same charged metallic taste. This time however there was no part of him that was distracted by a greater task – trying to justify his reaction by passing it off as pure desperation to save his friends. Now there wasn’t that to cling onto and Newt found himself floating adrift in the raging river of memories, things he had managed to push down and kick away with legs that flailed beneath the surface.

He found himself noticing things he hadn’t done before – the smoothness of Gellert’s skin for instance, not even a hint of stubble marring is upper lip or cheeks as he pressed forward. It distantly registered as odd in his swimming, sinking mind but he couldn’t really focus on any one train of thought as Gellert manoeuvred him onto his back beneath him. The abrupt change in position, having Gellert pinning him from above on his back sent further jolts of panic through him, he pushed up at the wizard’s hands and shoulders, trying to bat them away violently but only succeeding in getting both wrists caught and pinned above his head. The hand not gripping his wrists moved to unbutton the rest of his already partially opened shirt and he bucked his shoulders in protest as the material was slid away from his torso. The hand came to trace the ridges of ribs, muscle and bones beneath Newt’s pale, freckled skin, seeming to delight in tracing the marks left by previous brutalities but his mortification mounted truly as those dexterous, pale fingers began to ghost over his nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through him. Unwanted, he felt his body begin to squirm in something else other than fear and his lips parted against Gellert’s, allowing his tongue to slip in and, despite himself, Newt released a low, desperate moan. Though desperate for what he was somewhat unsure – his head was drowning.

He couldn’t breathe. Newt could feel his tingling chest hitching in aborted, thwarted movements to draw in air against the other man. He couldn’t draw in enough air to protest and it didn’t help that Gellert noticed this instantly and began to gently rub his face with one pale thumb, trying to soothe him but only serving to make his chest clench tighter and his vision begin to spot through with black dots. “Shh Liebling, calm yourself. You want this. You need it just as much as I do.”

Newt shook his head, tears leaking from his eyes that finally managed to focus upon the other’s - silently pleading for what he couldn’t ask for with words. Gellert either misinterpreted it or ignored it completely however as he suddenly felt a familiar pressure pushing into his mind, pulling up memories, flicking through them and discarding them at will. He was searching for something in particular for once – wasn’t just skimming the most recent recollections but digging about in dizzying speed and carelessness. Newt saw traces and flashes as quickly as Gellert must be and was horrified when his intimate moments with Percival kept on flashing up to the surface. Their kisses, caresses and loving words, the letters between them and lingering a little longer on the image of Newt with his legs locked around Percival’s waist, pressed up against his shelves in his shed, tented trousers pressing against one another… only to be interrupted by Theseus.

At first, Newt was terrified that Gellert was trying to use his memories of Percival to recreate that same, more favourable intimacy but then he realised that while these memories were being drawn to the surface they being discarded just as quickly. His moments of physical intimacy with Gellert came next, flickered past with obvious satisfaction from the other man but still discarded in a search for something _else_. Suddenly Leta’s face was pulled up, the awkward, very brief kiss she had bestowed upon him back in their broom-closet in Hogwarts but Gellert seemed dissatisfied with this too and he swiftly withdrew from Newt’s mind with the sensation akin to a plunger sucking out his brain.

He felt a sudden painful, harsh impact, and everything whites out for an indiscernible amount of time, just floating around until he is sucked back into his body, though it doesn’t feel like his. He lays, panting, open-mouthed under the other man, mind in an utter shambles and all sense of concentration or cognizant thought lost. Newt only just manages to focus enough to hear an agreeable voice but hissing furious, confused sounding words as he grips Newt by the shoulder with one hand and taps insistently on his cheek with the other – sending jolts through him. “How are you hiding them?”     

Newt blinks up confusedly, unsure of what the words strung together even mean, let alone why they were being directed at him with such odd ferocity. He shakes his head numbly, but it feels more like it just flops leaden from one side to another, sending his head and stomach in pirouetting spirals that makes him groan slightly. “Your memories, Newt, where are they?”

Newt in his desperate confusion manages to garble out but a word, eyes try hard to focus upon the blurry pale face above his own - shining like the full moon in its seemingly far-away-ness but for the two chips of contrasting blue and silver gleaming in it. “W-wha-at…?”        

“You’ve never been able to hide anything from me before, so what….” The nice voice trails off, leaving Newt even more confused, barely feels his brows crease together in confusion or the dampness on his face. Newt isn’t sure what he’s done to make the owner of the voice so angry or why he was on top of him like this and finds that every time he tries to focus too hard on anything it just slips further away from him.

He hears the nice, smooth, low voice sound again but this time it sounds sad and stunned and Newt doesn’t like that, he tries to focus again but with no better result. “You don’t have memories of being fucked because it hasn’t happened yet.”

The words should trigger some sort of reaction from Newt, he could recognise that at least, but he wasn’t sure what it was. He feels a warm, soft hand in his hair, brushing it away from his forehead and an odd dampness being smeared across his skin, one that had already been there and that sends shocks of pain through him. He moans at the sensation, rolling his head to the side, tries to get it away from the pain but not being able to as he heard soft, furious hushes in that same nice voice. “Verdammt noch mal! Damn boy, damn all of narrow-minded fools around you too… What are you doing to me?”

Newt is thoroughly confused by this point and his swimming head feels leaden and airborne at the same time, he lets his eyes slip closed though he, for some reason couldn’t pass out and moans again slightly at being forced to stay awake when all he wants is sleep. He feels so tired. Why wouldn’t the nice voice stop shaking him and just let him sleep? He feels someone – probably the owner of the agreeable voice - lift him up, manoeuvring him against something soft and warm, it smells nice too – oddly familiar and he buries his head into it. He feels a hum run through whatever his face is pressed against and then the hand is back in his hair, stroking it away from the point of damp pain. He gets a vague, distant feeling that there was something wrong with this whole situation, but he can’t quite figure out what it is as he hears a soft humming begin, vibrating slightly against him through what he thinks is the chest of the person holding him. Newt finds that sleep feels like it is coming easier now, slowing, very slowly drifting off to the steady motion below his head and what he distantly recognises to be some sort of song quietly rambling almost under the breath of the nice voice. 

“ _Hush falls the evening and tickles the bell, one freckle, three freckle, four. Hush falls the evening and tickles the bell, love, close your eyes, there are stories to tell…Troubles and marks and sakes to keep, blow out the candle and go to sleep.”_ The song ambling in its pace, the voice clearly – even to Newt’s shattered, hazed mind – piecing together words recalled from a long time ago. The flow disjointed but still somehow soothing and pleasant on the ear in the rich timbre as he continued. _“I hang the moon that looks to the west, tied to your pillow and twice ‘round your chest. Should the sky thunder and should the stars mist, water the branches that sprout from your wrist.”_ Newt could feel his body trembling but also relaxing into the embrace of sleep, feeling what felt like a rare form of weightlessness – was he usually heavy? Why would that be? As he listened to the voice it didn’t seem to much matter. 

_“Once was a man, on a dark and cruel road. One freckle, three freckle, four. Once was a man, on a dark and cruel road, where strangers and brothers and caravans towed. Troubles and marks and sakes to keep, blow out the candle and go to sleep…Some drifted missing and some drifted found, one freckle, three freckle, four.”_  The dampness on his head seemed to leave as an indeterminate amount of time and the numbness that seeps through him takes the pain too, he isn’t sure if that is good or not, but it feels good not to feel pain, so he thinks no more of it.   

_“Day came and he and his blood were forgot, one freckle, three freckle, four. Day came and he and his blood were forgot, save for the branches that from his wrist shot. Troubles and marks and sakes to keep blow out the candle and go to sleep.”_

The refraining strands draws Newt deeper into the blackness permeating his mind and he dreams, peacefully, if a bit uneasily, of roots, trunks and long branches – beautiful trees growing from flesh. Little green stick-like creatures scuttling about it in protection, scraping away at it with sharp little claws but seeming to care for it, nonetheless.

It was odd but Newt thought he liked odd.

It seemed familiar so he let it draw him deeper and away.   

**A/N – Because I can’t help myself and because I do have a plot drawn out here believe it or not that I ended up delaying because of… other things and pointless elaborations so sorry again.**

**Also, as a side note, the song used is yet another “borrowed” thing from much more creative and impressive individuals than myself, in this case, once again the amazing Terrence Zdunich who has been a massive inspiration for both the titles in this series and many of the chapter references. The song used is called ‘Lullaby’ by American Murder Song if you want to give it a full listen – I edited it down to just what I thought worked so… yeah.**


	19. Chapter 19

**“How I wish you could see the potential, the potential of you and me, it's like a book elegantly bound but in a language that you can't read just yet.**

**You gotta spend some time love, you gotta spend some time with me and I know that you'll find love.**

**I will possess your heart.**

**There are days when outside your window, I see my reflection as I slowly pass and I long for this mirrored perspective when we'll be lovers, lovers at last.**

**You reject my advances and desperate pleas, I won't let you let me down so easily, so easily.” – ‘I will possess your heart’ – Death Cab for Cutie**

Gellert hadn’t meant to push him quite as far as he had. For all his excursions into Newt’s intriguing mind there was still a lot to yet be discovered, it was one of the many things that drew him in; the infinite capability for empathy as well as change. He fought it against it, Gellert could see and feel that clear as day, but he could also feel the boy slipping, both in the bond resistance and in his feelings. It was what had let Gellert initiate as much as he had, what had let him touch Newt in the first place, the bond working to their intentions whether Newt realised it or not – it had been a fortuitous turn of events for Gellert as once that particular door was open there was little Newt could do to close it. He was responding wonderfully to Gellert’s influences and it had been that that left the elder wizard with the surety he could risk such advances as he had, had revelled in the smooth yet work-worn flesh beneath his fingertips. Seeing the young, beautiful, difficult man pinned beneath him and moaning at his touch had drawn Gellert into a sort of frenzy, his better reason and care temporarily leaving him in the desire to just do _anything_ to hear more of those intoxicating sounds.        

Newt was unaware of the designs that he was assisting Gellert in carrying out and as long as Grindelwald wanted it would remain that way – he did intend to make him aware of his part, but only when the time was right. The problem was that for one of the few times in his life, Gellert was forced to admit that he had miscalculated – not irreparably so perhaps, but enough to push his intentions off-kilter. He had not foreseen the utter innocence of the younger man in all aspects of life – he had thought that _surely_ someone would have seen it as enough of a delicious challenge by now that Newt would no longer be a virgin. Newt’s sweet, abusable, empathetic nature should have drawn in someone to break that border but having witnessed the furthest extent of Newt’s physical relationships as being with his besotted Auror, Gellert knew that the inevitable had not occurred - yet.

He saw no issue with being the one to introduce Newt to such a thing – revelled in it in fact, savoured the sweet potential, but he also realised that in order to not shatter his young companion completely he would have to soften his approach. He would have to guide him in a more... delicate manner than he had originally intended; he had already established early on that Newt responded better to softer behaviours and intimacy, even if there was a strong sparking vein within him that sought the more wicked side of things. It was why he had been enjoying Gellert’s touch as much as he had – witnessing that intimacy through both sides simultaneously had been an experience in ecstasy for Gellert and he couldn’t imagine that Newt had not felt it too. He was just trying to deny it in some lingering sense of affection to his Auror and in resistance to Gellert. But Gellert knew that Newt liked to push himself – it was why he enjoyed working with dangerous creatures, why he tried to abstain from sleep even though he knew it was inevitable, why he stayed around those who would put him in challenging situations. Befriending Aurors, Legilimens, powerful wizards, monsters and Muggles who flaunted the correct order of things was just yet another way the young man tried to push his own limits – he sought challenge even if he didn’t realise it. Gellert could give him that – wanted to show him what he was missing in his life.           

As much as he may take pleasure in the boy’s delightfully abusable nature and his futile attempts to avoid the inevitable, he had been shocked to learn that Newt really _was_ nearly as innocent as he looked on a surface level. It was why he had released his head and mind simultaneously with more careless force than he had meant to; the crack his cellmate’s head had made as it struck the stone and the completely vague and disturbed track of his thoughts that followed had caused more concern to flare up in him than he had experienced in longer than he could remember. Not that he had any issue with causing pain of course, but it all had its own purpose and it was always by his design – _this_ however had not been and _that_ was unacceptable. Not only because it had the potential to upset his plans concerning his escape and the boy’s future but because he had not meant to cause this suffering. It was disconcertingly difficult and downright unacceptable to witness the boy passing out in his arms, head bleeding, mind in an incomprehensible shamble that bled into Gellert’s consciousness and tear tracks joining the blood to stain his freckled cheeks. He had seen Newt in similar circumstances of course – had been the implementor of such perfectly articulated sufferings but witnessing them whilst being aware that he – _Gellert_ – was helpless to do anything to prevent lasting damage caused him to experience something close to panic. 

Through the bond, he could feel Newt’s mind deteriorating within the confinements of both his unconsciousness and the deeper state of rest that Gellert had drawn him into in the first place. He had gone too deep and Gellert knew enough about healing magic to be able to recognise significant brain damage when it had been inflicted. The silver cauterised into Newt’s flesh that was left exposed by his open shirt had spread further than Gellert had anticipated, the spirals of metal encompassing most of his upper body on the left-hand side. He knew exactly why it had done so – had been the one to encourage such growth to strengthen the bond between them but it was now causing problems. Making Albus more aware of the developments and causing suspicions to rise further in him – not that he had the courage to investigate it for himself of course. He could sense Albus almost as strongly as he always had been able to and made sure to occasionally check in on his friend’s progression in his research and how he was dealing with Newt. One of the things that they both still shared a vested interest in.    

Whilst in this cell and with the thorough bindings Albus had placed upon him, he was unable to heal such injury without access to his magic. In the state Newt was in, Gellert couldn’t even risk letting him out of the physical state he was suspended in in the cell – he didn’t trust the competency of Newt’s associates to be able to sort the damage. Not with the most powerful of them sent off on a wild little goose chase around the ass-end of Massachusetts, not that he regretted distracting Graves in such a way of course. No, one of the few people he knew to be close to Newt who might be able to deal with it was precisely the last person Gellert wanted to alert of the developments in the bond. Albus couldn’t stop his plans by this point but he could still delay them to the point that it could easily disrupt numerous other intricately woven strands of Gellert’s design.   

And that just wouldn’t do. 

Looking down at Newt cradled in his arms, face milk-white, unfairly beautiful even under the circumstances of pain and exhaustion he knew what he had to do and whilst it would require some recalculating on his part, he didn’t doubt his own capability to adjust suitably. He had nothing but time after all, but for now, he needed to ensure that Newt didn’t die – not because of a careless mistake.

So he swallowed his pride and called upon the one person he knew could help.

Albus appeared quicker than he would have expected and knew instantly that his old companion must have been expecting this or else had already been on his way. After all, Albus was able to tap into the bond just as Gellert could, even if he chose not to, he looked harassed, agedly handsome face creased around his brows which created further lines when his bright blue gaze fell upon Gellert and Newt. His neat grey three-piece suit crinkled and gathered the slight grit of the cold stone ground without a thought as he swiftly came to kneel beside the two of them. His astute gaze assessed the situation in sharp, rapid movements of bright azure irises, his worn hand came to brush Gellert’s brusquely away in order to better examine the damage, though Gellert’s lip curled at the action he allowed it to pass without comment as he knew what Albus needed to do. Was usually fully capable of doing it himself but in his current state was unable to do so, so instead contented himself to merely watch, humming his tune lowly under his breath as he sought some way to soothe the agitation from Newt’s unconscious state as he had earlier. He wasn’t sure where the instinct came from, but it had seemed to have the desired affect earlier so continued now, half almost to comfort himself even.

Not a single word passed between them as Albus closed his eyes, pressing a hand to Newt’s forehead and began to search out the deeper damage within the boy’s head. Both could feel the sickness – the disquiet that resided there, though neither were entirely sure whether it was rooted wholly in the physical realm of malady or if there was a much more significant damage lurking beneath barriers of self that not even they could penetrate. Despite the bond and the abilities each held in the fields of Legilimency, there were certain realms in a person’s consciousness that couldn’t be plumbed by another. Gellert recognised the difference between necessary sufferings for the purpose of fortification and true abuse, he enjoyed towing the line between the two, even if it sometimes led to complications such as this – when he pushed that little bit too far. But the delight in doing so with the darling youth cradled in his arms was that Newt held an eternal seeming elasticity – a capability to pull himself back to the border and cling back onto it if given the right footholds. Gellert had worked over the months to become one of those footholds, even if he was one that sometimes purposefully crumbled and allowed the boy to slip again, he had worked himself into a position where he was also the solution to such stumbles.

Gellert could feel it when Albus had finally managed to pull together the loosened strands of psyche along with the more physical brain damage; could picture them just as Albus could, not only through the bond but through the shared brilliance that had once drawn them together so inescapably. That connection – that unique ability to see the world as glowing strands of purpose and potential would remain as long as they lived, even if Albus’ paltry career choice wasted the brilliance of his mind. It may dull the genius that resided within him but with the right stimuli – the right whetting stone – anything could be brought back to its former glory. He had hoped that Albus may have grown to see the potential he – _they_ – held, but even now he could sense that he had his path set. The aspirations he held as a child, as a young man – the brilliantly justified arrogance of a man with the whole world ahead of him should he choose to take it, were dulled and hidden behind a veil of guilt and a pointless desire to punish himself for the follies he had made. But fortunately, Newt’s usually problematic friends had offered a new chance to both Albus and Newt to rekindle their talents in the form of Credence Barebone. The protection and tutorage of the Obscurial had triggered something in all three of them that could be used to unify them should the correct approach be taken.

In Albus, he was seen as an opportunity for reclamation – a challenge that could both distract and redeem him from what he saw as irredeemable follies, but also to challenge his stagnating mind. He foolishly blamed himself for every suffering that had befallen others through his influences in a way that was detrimental to all involved – pity negated the value of life and the actions of those who perished in one way or another.

For Gellert he was a source of power as well as another lost, unjustly abused soul who needed to be shown his true potential and to be a useful force in creating the new world.    

Newt’s intentions however remained as delectably pure as ever – he simply saw another abused, lonely creature and wanted to help. In a way, he was also seeking redemption – from what happened when he had mistakenly made the useless entity that still resided within his case; he saw his inexperienced blunder as unforgivable and aimed to do better with Credence. To help him as he did his creatures and strays.

Eventually, Albus’ hand left Newt’s sweat slicked forehead and with another gesture the blood and surface damage were cleared away in an instant, the boy seemed to relax slightly in his unconsciousness, the lines troubling his pale, freckle-dusted face lessening. The dark circles about his eyes gradually vanished too and the sense of exhaustion surrounding him evaporated, leaving behind a sense of surface serenity even if the troubles still lay beneath. Albus regarded him with an infinitely conflicted expression for some time before turning a severe, quietly furious expression up to Gellert.

“I will admit that I am unsure as to how this ability to connect has come about but I implore you to stop it before you cause irreparable damage. He isn’t a toy merely here for your entertainment, Gellert, and neither is he likely to reciprocate your affections. Whatever you think you have seen or felt from him is not what you think it is.” His eyes were burning almost with an intensity of the same icy fire that Gellert’s were capable of but Gellert did not let himself be cowed, even as he continued. “Newt has a capacity for empathy with monsters but that does not mean that he cares for you – it simply means that is able to understand the way you are and feel it for himself. That does _not_ mean love.” He brows folded as if under immense pressure and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, allowing his true concern to bleed through. “If you continue in this way you are liable to do some serious harm – more than you already have, but if you truly feel for Newt as you claim you do then please just allow him to get on with his life. He has friends, family, creatures and a lover who worry for him and that depend on him as much as he does on them. Attempting to break those bonds will only cause the man you claim to care for to slip away and there will come a time when not even you will be able to bring him back.”

Gellert levelled a hard, decisive stare back at him, hand carding reflexively through Newt’s light-copper curls. “Don’t assume that you are in a position to advise me of _anything_ concerning Newt’s welfare, if you were really so concerned you would have intervened months ago, but instead you seem to have found yourself content with allowing the inevitable to occur.” He met Albus’ eyes directly with fierce intent, confident in his words which dropped into a near whisper as he continued. “Why might that be I wonder?”

Something flickered through the other’s expression so fast and pained that a less observant man might have missed it. “I will admit that I was… curious as to your intentions, I had hoped that Newt was having a positive effect on you… perhaps enough to divert you from your course of action concerning the greater good of our world but it is clear to me now that not even someone as caring as him can save you.” His voice was stilting but equal in its fervour; his eyes were alit with an old concern, an even older affection that Gellert knew only too well – one that still plucked at the fraying strands that wove the tapestry of his heart. He could sense that his former lover was suffering because of his attitudes – had always known it but had only more recently realised quite what it was that he had felt in return… all thanks to the precious creature that lay unmoving in his lap.

As much as he still saw Albus in the way he once had in some lingering, foolishly passionate, nostalgic way, he had since moved on from such petty obsessions as the follies of youth– he had hardened himself against such things for the sake of his cause. Though he had more recently come to appreciate the intrigue and comfort that could come with feeling those emotions he had witnessed too much change in Albus to mirror his affections now. He was no longer the same as he once was and wouldn’t be capable of seeing anything more than the past between them – Gellert needed someone with which he could build a future. He needed someone he could incorporate into the future he was working to create; someone that be a support, a distraction, a confidant and a release for his pent-up tension and his baser desires. Albus was no longer that; he was too set in his own ways now – a man who was consumed by the follies of his own youth in a way that solidified someone new and as much as he respected Albus’ growth as an individual – into someone stronger in morals than he had once been. He was no longer someone that Gellert could influence and the love and reverence that Albus had once felt for Gellert had been tainted by years of what each had gone on to do – opposing yet intertwining strands of lives that would only cause damage should they interconnect once more in the way they once had.

But Newt was something else entirely.   

Newt was at the perfect stage of life where his ideals were set but were still subject to the winds of change as he experienced more of the world - not quite impressionable, but unique in his capacity for empathy with those things that were broken or shunned by others. He was an outsider that remained on the inside because he allowed others a feeling of stability in comparison – they saw their flaws in him but also had their strengths reflected back at them. Gellert may hold an ability to bring out the darker elements in someone so that they no longer feared the consequences of their actions in terms of the greater good, but Newt held the ability to make people believe that those darker elements were so much more forgivable. They would make a worthy match for one another even discounting the younger man’s wit, intelligence, untainted beauty and affinity with attracting powerful creatures. Gellert wasn’t going to give him up to anyone any more than he had to.

The affection Newt felt for Percival was a fleeting fancy – a grasp for stability and familiarity in the face of uncertainty, a symbol of those things he had been brought up to believe were moral and righteous. He was a representation of law and besotted behaviour wrapped in a conveniently attractive package that just happened to have a practised charm and charisma to go along with it. Gellert knew Percival better than either he or Newt realised – had traced and mirrored the structures of his life and character for long enough to know just what the two men might see in one another. But he was willing to be patient – comprehending Newt’s innocence in matters of the heart or flesh he now knew that pushing would not help matters. Percival may be Newt’s first love but Gellert’s intended to be his last – he recognised that the pattern the two of them were holding was not one built to last. When the time came, Percival could be removed from the picture entirely as he had once intended, but not before Newt realised the failure between them and decided to leave him of his own accord. Granted, it may take some tweaking in the circumstances surrounding the two of them but with the already present tensions and weaknesses to exploit it shouldn’t be difficult. The threads there were already set and would become cumbersome to them sooner rather than later. Percival had quite the temper on him when provoked appropriately and Gellert knew him well enough to pinpoint exactly what might lead him to snap in just the right way. Had already done so.            

As Gellert regarded Albus and Newt in turn, he could sense that the other wizard had some sense of what was going on within both their minds even if Gellert had purposefully shielded them as best he could – pulling upon pre-existing magic he had woven before the Elder Wand was taken from him. Subtle incantations that affected Newt in ways that would go unnoticed unless one was specifically looking for them and Albus was already too distracted with dismantling Gellert’s web, teaching his dull children and chasing around after the numerous souls who he had wronged. There had been a long, drawn out silence between the two powerful wizards and the deeply slumbering one that still resided under Gellert’s careful gaze. Albus seemed to be unsure of how to engage Gellert, clearly lacking enough certainty in the latter’s specific intentions to venture a proper solution for any of it and Gellert had no inclination of guiding him any closer to the truth of matters. **(And nor did the author)**  

Grindelwald diverted his gaze down to the younger man’s bared chest, temptation thrumming within him for an instant before he instead carefully rebuttoned Newt’s shirt, tucking it back into his trousers with a hint of a inquisitive linger in his finger’s movements as they dipped slightly below the waistline. A curious smile flickered across his lips as he imagined just how wonderfully Newt would react for him when the time finally came, feeling his fingers curl very slightly in anticipation of that sweet moment. Would he make more of those intoxicating sounds? Would his body arch as it had underneath him, involuntarily pressing deeper into the contact between them and eyes alight with panicked confusion at what he was experiencing…Gellert pressed his hand a little deeper before a sharp pain shot through his hand and he withdrew it with a hiss but smirked up at Albus who looked strained, jaw clenched tight and eyes nearly watering.

“I think it would be best if you released him voluntarily so that I might better gauge the damage you inflicted.” Gellert was tempted to refuse but knew that he was in no position to be making Albus aware of his capabilities so sighed theatrically and gently manoeuvred himself out from under Newt’s prone form. He settled the young man down onto the stone, cradling his head to lower it down gently before he released him completely, leaning back in his place against the wall with the same air of cocky charisma that had once entranced Albus so. Now it just seemed to disturb him further. Such a shame. “I will be putting into place stricter measures to prevent this sort of thing from happening again…” Albus’ eyes were immeasurably pained but unmistakably hard as he spoke. “But please believe me, Gellert, when I say that if you continue the path that you are on, both in terms of Newt’s welfare and in your greater designs… I will but a stop to it. Permanently.”

Gellert laughed softly at that despite the seriousness he sensed in the other’s mind and tone “If you were capable of enacting such threats, Albus, you would have done so long ago. We both know you don’t have it in you. Not even for the sake of our little Newt. You know we are better for one another than you like to pretend.” 

Albus stood, hand still resting upon Newt’s arm in what could be seen as a protective manner but what could also have been interpreted as a ground for him or as possessiveness. “I mean it, Gellert. Your actions have gone far past the point where I can excuse them as anything but what they truly are. Stop what you are doing. You’re killing him whether you realise it or not.”

Gellert remained resolutely silent, regarding the other coldly but evenly, confident in the air of a man who knew his own intentions better than the other. Albus sighed out an eternally weary, distraught sound before gently putting a hand to Newt’s forehead causing a brief glow before the magizoologist shimmered from view – disappearing back into the realm from whence he came. Albus straightened, dusting off his trousers and regarding Gellert with a look that was unfathomable, even to Gellert, his mind shutting itself off as he withdrew both physically and mentally. Just before he too disappeared from view, he waved his hand in a complicated though familiar pattern of movements, silencing Gellert and tightening the physical restraints around him in a shimmer of multi-coloured magic. He jerked slightly in response to the spells but retained eye contact until those vivid blue eyes faded from his sight, leaving him alone in the cell once more.       

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**“Shyness is nice and shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life you'd like to…**

**So, if there's something you'd like to try, if there's something you'd like to try, ask me, I won't say "no." How could I?**

**Coyness is nice and coyness can stop you from saying all the things in life you'd like to.**

**…. Because if it's not love then it's the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb that will bring us together.**

**Nature is a language - can't you read?** **” – ‘Ask Me’ – The Smiths**

When Newt awoke, he felt better than he had done in longer than he could remember, it was as though a heavy, suffocating blanket of smog had been removed from his sight, body and mind. He felt properly refreshed, even more so than the brief month without Gellert’s interruptions because that rest had still been plagued by reminiscent nightmares and the lingering apprehension of when Gellert would return. Where this new sense of rest had come from, he had no idea, but he wasn’t going to look a gift-Hippogriff in the eye by questioning it any further. He opened his eyes and pushed himself up in bed, surprised at the relative limberness of his often-stiff joints first thing in the morning and quickly slung his legs out of the blankets and onto the floor beneath. Glancing out the window he noticed that it was dusk already and instantly felt panic and guilt eat at him both for abandoning Bunty to take care of the Magizoo on her own for a whole day and for missing Credence’s first magic lesson. He wasn’t particularly surprised that when allowed the chance he had slept for so long, but it made him feel no less guilty about leaving his responsibilities unattended.

He stripped off his crumpled clothes quickly, not even glancing at the mirror before redressing in fresh clothes, leaving the old ones on the floor by his bed in his usual habit. He briefly swiped a cursory hand through his hair as he pulled on his waistcoat, forgoing his bowtie in his haste and clattered down the stairs at a brisk pace. It was likely that Bunty was still about at this time of the evening because he hadn’t been there to help even though she should be leaving soon as per her payed hours, he swiped a stray apple off the side as he passed the kitchen and jogged down the steps into the underground creature haven. Taking a few hasty bites with one hand, tossing the remnants to Quinn and Lucy as passed their enclosure he drew his wand with the other and flicked it in a series of practised patterns, sending the appropriate foods to each creature as he passed them, giving an efficient visual once over to check that everyone was in good order. Newt paused by the rainforest tree that stood on one of lower levels and housed the cocoon for the Swooping Evil – still unnamed as nothing had felt right just yet as well as him being the only one of his kind that Newt had encountered.

The cocoon was closed as tightly as ever and when Newt tickled it slightly the creature within shrieked and spread it’s wings in a dramatic but reassuring manner. Everything seemed well in order there and when Newt summoned over a glass beaker to collect more venom, he collected a healthy quantity that Newt sent floating back up to his shed on the upper levels. The floating container was nearly knocked from the air on its way past a midpoint landing on the stairway system as an agitated looking Auror ran past it and forward to pull Newt forward into a bone-crushing hug. He squeaked in shock as he was enveloped in a wonderfully familiar scent of citrus, pine and an alarmingly fresh jolt of whiskey, attempting to hug Percival back but finding his arms pinned awkwardly to his sides as the air was crushed out of him. He managed an awkward little pat of his hands on the American’s sides to let him know he needed air and after a moment Percival loosened his bearhug, pushing Newt back at arm’s length and regarding him with quick, thorough, concerned eyes. “Newt, you’re awake. How’re you feeling?”                           

“Um, fine?” Newt replied, confused and eying his companion as if he had suddenly sprouted an extra arm despite the fact he looked normal as ever; if a bit dishevelled from what appeared to have been caring for Newt’s Magizoo if the straw, grass and mud stains on his impeccable white shirts and suit trousers were anything to go by. “I thought you weren’t meant to be back for another two days at least? Did you manage to sort out whatever was going on earlier than expected?”

Percival’s dark brows furrowed further, and he brought a warm, worn hand up to probe lightly at the skin of Newt’s forehead and hairline with an inquisitive touch that had Newt leaning back with a puzzled frown. Percival seemed to interpret his confusion correctly and sighed before explaining in a tense voice. “I got back yesterday morning when your Professor Dumbledore contacted me, I came as quickly as I was able – fortunately the case took less time than I had thought and most of the work was already done by that point. When I got here you were unconscious, and Dumbledore told me that Grindelwald had managed to… to hurt you again and that he had stepped in because you obtained a head injury.” His brow crumpled further, eyes gleaming with fierce concern that riled the confusion Newt was feeling further. “Brain damage apparently. He managed to fix it and gave you an enchantment to help you sleep soundly but none of us were sure whether that bastard could still get to you then.” There was an unspoken question tacked onto the end of the speech and Newt was quick to answer, to do anything that would alleviate the wretchedness in Percival’s expression.

“No, I haven’t had any… dreams, at all…I don’t remember much from when I went to sleep up until a few minutes ago…” He trailed off desolately as he properly registered the gaping hole that must exist in his memories; unsure whether it was because of a spell, due to brain damage or because his mind was trying to protect him from something. Whatever the case, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the truth of it, there was some solace in not knowing and he was quick to grasp onto that and smiled softly through his fringe at Percival. The Auror looked wary but as he hoped it would, his smile had its usual effect it did on the other and Percival’s lips twitched up to match his. He then pulled Newt into a softer embrace than before, breathing out in apparent relief on his neck. Newt shivered in delight at the sensation, the hairs on his neck raising in response to the heat and felt further tension leak out of both of their frames.    

When they pulled back, releasing contact for the first time since they saw one another Percival was still regarding him with concern and suspicion but not the kind that flared up Newt’s natural underlying guilt but just in a more general way – as if he knew Newt was withholding something. “Are you sure you’re alright? You were practically comatose for two days and according to your professor you took quite the blow to the head alongside all of the other stuff that bastard had been doing meddling around in your mind.”

“Percy, I’m _fine_. I swear, in fact I feel better than I have in a long time - like I’ve actually slept properly for once.” He smiled sheepishly and Percival seemed to relent slightly under his earnest gaze.

“Well you do _look_ better than you did before, I guess.” He almost grumbled and Newt had to press his lips together to repress a smile, cocking an eyebrow at the Auror playfully.

“What do I look like usually then?” Percival smirked and snaked a hand around Newt’s waist, drawing the slighter man in slowly so that their hips pressed against one another’s in such a way that left Newt’s breath hitching pleasantly in his throat, pulse thrumming that little bit faster in anticipation. The Auror’s lips ghosted by his ear in a way reminiscent of how he did in the shed the last time they were alone together and Newt’s shivered lightly.

“The wonderful thing about you Newt is that there is no _‘usually’_ \- you could be dressed to the nines in a surprisingly well-tailored blue velvet suit or you could be half dressed and covered Morgana-only-knows-what but either way you’d be just as stunning as you are now.” Newt flushed bright pleasantly pink right to the tips of his ears, and he chuckled under his breath, biting his lip nervously and drawing a low groan from Percival at the movement. When Newt raised a quizzical eyebrow at the sound Percival glared teasingly at him and muttered “Its not fair when you do that you know.”

“Do what?” Newt asked, bewildered but excited to learn what seemed to have such a pleasing effect on his partner, Percival looked a bit abashed but also playful, a darker gleam shining in his warm-whiskey eyes that left Newt’s forming knots.

“That bloody pout of yours, Scamander – you must realise the effect is has on me.”

Newt laughed and shook his head bemusedly, a bit indignantly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about - I’m not pouting, I _don’t_ pout. I’m just closing my lips.”

It was Percival’s turn to release a derisive snort. “Sure you are.” Newt glared but melted nonetheless into the kiss that Percival pressed to his apparently ‘pouting’ lips and returned it with enthusiasm, wrapping his arms around the older man’s shoulders. He didn’t mind the dirt that had been rubbed into his partner’s shirt, feeling it crumble away under his fingertips as they danced over his back. It was odd seeing Percival in anything less than perfect order, but he found that the fact that the Auror had worked his best to take care of Newt’s creatures whilst he was incapacitated sparked a familiar warmth within him. It made him feel all the more fond of the other to think that he had pushed himself out of his comfort zone by doing so and done it because he knew it was important to Newt. He was also rather surprised that Percival hadn’t ended up injured or with a stampede on his hands and supposed rather distantly that Bunty must have guided him.  

He deepened the kiss of his own accord, pushing further into Percival’s mouth, tongue brushing lightly over the roof of his mouth, his teeth, briefly meeting Percival’s in an unhurried exploration that left them both gasping slightly once they withdrew. Percival began dotting kisses softly down Newt’s jawline to his neck in way that made Newt shudder unconsciously though he wasn’t entirely sure why and shrugged it off as he muttered into Percival’s hair. “Please tell me that Bunty has left for the evening already?

Percival chuckled against his neck, warm breath tickling his skin and causing him to shudder lightly again, head tilting and angling back to allow the Auror more movement as his lips descended further to his collar-line.  

“Yes, she was very helpful in showing me around, but she looked exhausted, so I told her I’d finish up for the evening.” Newt nodded in approval and gasped when Percival’s fingers ghosted up his side beneath his untucked shirt, though when the Auror had managed to move the garment he didn’t know.

“Thank you for that by the way, she’s always working too hard despite what I-” His words were cut off as Percival’s other hand knotted in the hair at the nape of his neck, angling his head back for further leverage in such a way that sent jolts through his spine and he lost his train of thought. The other hand ventured further up Newt’s body, tracing the muscles of his side and lightly trailing over the spirals of silver that encompassed his upper body on the left side, this resulted in more sparks through his skin but for once they weren’t of the painful kind. He heard a low growl come from Percival and the next moment he was tugging at the buttons holding Newt’s shirt closed hard enough that they were in danger of being broken. The young magizoologist chuckled a bit headily at the Auror’s impatience and gently moved his hand beneath them to push Percival’s away. It left the American looking disappointed but understanding in what he thought the gesture meant until Newt used a wandless gesture to undo them for himself, making sure to keep his eyes locked firmly on the others to properly convey his surety – that he wasn’t struggling with the fast pace or memories.

Percival’s eyes met his with an enquiring expression prevalent in them which Newt responded to by waving his hand at Percival’s own shirt, unbuttoning it in an instant, leaving the Auror amused but equally aroused if the gleam in his gorgeous warm-whiskey eyes was any gauge. Newt could tell that his partner was holding back on him again though, still dwelling within the realms of reasonable concern that any action or word on his part could prove detrimental, but Newt was filled with an odd fearlessness that left him almost lightheaded. It felt strangely wonderful to feel such a way and whilst there was a part of him that was telling him that it was likely a fleeting sensation and that there was something dangling _just_ above his head that could cause the whole situation to come crashing down on him. He ignored it in favour of the exhilaration that was flowing through him, pulling Percival’s shirt and waistcoat down his arms, growing irritated as the garments caught around the Auror’s wrists despite his repeated tugging until Percival took control. He flicked his wrists in a gesture that both removed the offending items and Newt’s own shirt, smirking in that charmingly self-assured manner of his at the impressed look that Newt was sure painted his own face.

Percival advanced back on Newt from the step he had previously taken away, gripping Newt by the waist and lifting him easily so that the magizoologist was forced to wrap his gangly legs around the other’s waist lest he be bowled over. Their lips met again but this time with that heady need that Newt felt fogging his brain in the most delightfully sinful way as Percival’s teeth caught his lip, pulling and claiming him fastidiously. Percival backed them into the nearest wall, one that was permeated by vines and moss that grew through from the confines of the next magically induced habitat, Newt could feel the slightly damp plant life pressing against his bare back. As Newt was wont to do in more nature dominated environments, he grew in confidence, intoxicated in equal amounts by being in his element and by inhaling the more virulently potent scent that was Percival. His hands slipped down the Auror’s muscled sides, marvelling at the pale strength that resided beneath the man’s hair graced chest pressed up so tightly against his own lightly fuzzed, freckled one. The physical differences between the two may have created a stark contrast but in the artificial dusk that mirrored the outside weather both appeared almost golden and the lines of muscle – both subtle and strong, were highlighted in pleasing contrast.

Newt dared to dip his hands in the tight line of Percival’s well-cut trousers, finding little leverage in the flatteringly close-fitting material with which to explore further so instead moved trembling though intrepid fingers to the clasp and zipper instead. He heard Percival’s breathing stutter nearly to a stop before he released a deliberately measured breath and dipped his lips down to brush the sensitive skin of Newt’s left shoulder, lightly mouthing the raised line of metal in his flesh. “Newt…” The younger wizard shook his head softly, fingers become bolder in their movements as he pulled the clasp out of its setting with little trouble, he cupped the growing, rigid bulge that pressed up against his hand, breath stuttering himself at the sensation and well…size. Before he could lose his nerve, he slid his legs from around Percival’s waist and descended to his knees, face coming level with the older man’s crotch, feeling his hands shake with anticipation of the sheer recklessness of what he was about to do but finding it only served to send further jolts of arousal through him. Newt heard Percival curse under his breath and smiled, smirking lips inches from the tented fabric of the other’s trousers, he took a deep inhale and moved to the zipper quickly before he felt a firm grip catch his wrist. “Newt… stop, wait.”

Newt looked up at him then at the odd edge Percival’s tone had to it – a clear anger that Newt couldn’t place and felt humiliation run through him. He had gone too far, had misread the situation as usual and made Percival uncomfortable, he hadn’t done anything this daring before and had probably just put his partner off. Newt instantly withdrew his hand, standing clumsily and attempting to step back before remembering that there was a wall there and stumbling slightly, flushing bright red. He hurriedly averted his gaze to his own bare chest, eyes burning with tears of humiliation that he did not allow to fall – it was embarrassing enough to be rejected like this without adding the shame of shedding tears onto it. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” He muttered, wrapping his arms around himself as he felt the other’s intense gaze examining him closely. How could he have been so stupid to think he could do this? Percival had probably had much more experienced lovers who knew exactly what do – Newt had no real idea, he had just been acting on pure instinct and what he had fantasised about for so long.      

He felt a hand brush his arm and Percival silently coaxed his gaze back, Percival’s eyes were troubled, his jaw set tight and something furious jerking underneath the surface – clearly angry, hurt even, but trying to hide it. “Newt, where did that come from?” At first Newt thought he was too referring to Newt’s newfound, ridiculous boldness but then realised that he was gesturing at Newt’s neck. Just where it met his collarbone with a slightly trembling hand and the wizard in question frowned in confusion, looking down as best he could to see the bottom most part of a dark bruise mark; just visibly rimmed by what were clearly teeth marks. He looked back up bewilderedly, unsure what Percival was so worked up about until suddenly something clicked within his mind and he inwardly crumpled under the wave of memories that flooded through him. He remembered _exactly_ where the mark had come from and all that had occurred before it, Newt let the tears fall then, pressing a disgusted, shaking hand to the mark, as if to hide it, to repress it and the guilt-ridden recollections that came with it. He hadn’t felt it, hadn’t recalled it all until that moment and the guilt and horror was all the more potent for it. He slid down the wall again, this time in despair, horror chasing all traces of arousal from him, breath catching in a throat that felt suddenly tight, silent lines of tears streaking down his cheeks. Newt wasn’t sure what had caused the temporary spottiness of his memory, but it didn’t excuse him trying to move forward with Percival in such a way when he was lying to the man like this.

Newt felt more than saw Percival crouch down in front of him, eyes still holding concern but there was a glimmer of doubt that Newt knew he should assuage… even if he didn’t deserve forgiveness Percival deserved to know the truth. “Newt. Newt.” He jerked his eyes up to meet the other’s, so many words caught in his throat, in his chest, that he felt like he was choking on them. Percival seemed to sense this and rubbed his hand softly against Newt’s bare arm, eyes beseeching and tone low but fierce; inquisitive. “Newt, what happened and why didn’t you feel that you could tell me about it?” His expression faltered and cracked momentarily to reveal true pain and uncertainty beneath it. “I know I was gone for a while and that things have been… difficult between us on the physical side of things but I thought-… I thought we were getting better… did I do something to drive you away? Is it because of work? If I did, I’m sorry-”

Newt was quick to cut off the words that acted like a dull knife to his heart in the clear concern and confusion that lay within them. “No, no! Percival, you’ve done nothing wrong… you’re… you’re the best part… the best part of my life right now. It’s me who-” He cut himself off this time, voice stilting and unsure of how to voice his actions – _his betrayal_ -without making Percival feel that much worse. The Auror was firm in his gaze and grip but there a slight lessening the tension around his jaw, the crinkles around his eyes deepening. 

“Mercy Lewis, Newt, just tell me what happened.” At Newt’s flinch he softened further, grip following Newt as he pushed his feet back up under him, using the wall to support him, feeling weak and childish in his place on the floor. “Please.”

“I- I’m sorry, it started when Credence... knocked me out.” Newt started, eyes flickering fast around but always going back to Percival’s – forcing himself to give his partner the basic decency of eye contact for what he was admitting to him. The other man nodded, as if he had expected as much, eyes prompting Newt to continue, which he did. “Gellert- Grindelwald, he wasn’t going to let me get back to you without a… price… it was how I was able to wake up so quickly – time works different there, I think. At the time I didn’t know that I was safe from Credence and I was so worried about you and Tina – I thought you could be dead any second that I wasted, so I agreed to… to kiss him.” He ducked his head in shame and felt Percival’s grip on his bare arm tighten ever so slightly but he didn’t interrupt – knowing there was more. “I did it and I’m sorry for lying to you but I…. I was… I _am_ ashamed of myself. That I _allowed_ him to touch me again… that there was a part of me t-that… l-liked it.” His admittance was very, very quiet and he was sure that all exposed skin must be flushed dark red right now, scared blue eyes flickered to Percival’s strong shoulder in deference to the wronged man.

“The last thing I remember before now is being back in Gellert’s cell, we were talking – I had tried to avoid seeing him while you were gone… after I kissed him, and I was exhausted. Not that it’s an excuse, of course, but I…” He cleared his throat, snaking an arm tighter around his bare midriff awkwardly, suddenly self-conscious of the memories of a different kind of touch plaguing him. “I tried to tell him that I didn’t – that I _don’t_ care for him but he- he never takes that well… seems to take it as a challenge of sorts, I suppose.” He shuddered slightly but forced himself onwards. “He kept on talking, I was trying to distract him, I think, and he started talking about his childhood, about his seers gift and about my creatures… but then he told me that he’d been… witnessing our um… our time together because of, well… because of the bond and when I was… uh stimulated…”

He was shuddering now, practically glowing bright crimson and increasingly unnerved by Percival’s continued silence, not daring to look up and see what his words had caused – he couldn’t, not until he had gotten it all out in the open. Percival deserved that. “He grabbed me, pinned me down and it was like… it was too much like _before_. He kissed me again, was _touching_ me and trying to dig through m-my memories… he was trying to find what would make me… w-want him…” More tears slid down his cheeks, still silent aside from Newt’s choking, stilted, guilt-ridden voice. The grip on his arm was like iron now, whether Percival registered it or not and Newt didn’t complain – he deserved the Auror’s anger, he was accustomed to pain, and he deserved it for his betrayal, for his weakness. “He didn’t find what he was looking for – small mercy that it was.” He laughed bitterly though his tears, swiping agitatedly at them with his free arm. “He must’ve got out of my head less carefully than he usually would’ve I guess, I don’t remember much after that… I think maybe… I think he _sang_ to me – as ridiculous as it sounds but he… made me go to sleep… or maybe I passed out… I’m not sure. I don’t remember anything from then until when I woke up. I guess that was when Albus stepped in?” The last part was tentative and open-ended, but he didn’t really expect a confirmation. He mumbled just a little more almost as an afterthought when the silence continued – feeling the need to get everything out in the open. “As much as I’m grateful to him for helping I wish he needn’t’ve got involved… it's not fair that this should carry on being his problem…He already has too much to deal with… doesn’t need my stupid mistakes adding to it…”  

Newt finally dared to meet the eyes of the man who was nearly crushing his arm, trepidation filling every fibre of his being at the odd blank rage he saw there. The Auror’s jaw was clenched wire-tight, eyes wide and shining, lips pressed in a thin line and whole-body rigid as if set in stone. There was an indefinable amount of time that they remained that way – Percival cold and unreachable and Newt trapped in a horrible state of suspended, horrified anticipation. It was finally broken as Percival released him swiftly, stepping back and heading straight for the nearest staircase, leaving Newt frozen for a moment before he jolted in shock when he saw that his partner had his wand drawn and his pace was decisive. Newt had to duck slightly to the side as Percival’s shirt whipped past him and ensconced the Auror as he held out his limbs in an impressive feat of both wandless magic and physical coordination to achieve whilst on the move. Newt summoned his own shirt from where it had been discarded in a moment of pure abandon and bliss not minutes ago but what felt like years, pulling it on by hand in a clumsier movement as he stumbled up the steps behind the irate Auror. Had he thought that Percival was simply trying to distance himself from Newt, the younger man probably would've just let him go to give him time to himself but the fact that he looked so focussed and that he had drawn his wand gave Newt reason to suspect that silent contemplation was most certainly _not_ what the Auror had in mind.

As he slammed through the upper door and back into Newt’s house, shirt still mostly unbuttoned and wand clenched tightly in his hand, Newt caught up, grabbing Percival’s arm and attempting to pull him about. “Percy! Percival! What are you doing?” Without even looking back at Newt he firmly extricated himself from the Magizoologist’s grip which stung, but Newt was more concerned over just what the other was planning on doing that required such haste and the use of his wand with what Newt recognised as his offensive wand grip. The last time he had seen Percival this incensed he had mounted an attack on Grindelwald and Newt got the terrible feeling that violence was just what was on his mind now too. The American continued on his path towards the front door Newt had just enough forewarning to hastily grab onto the other’s shoulder as he apparated once out of the building. He knew that the only reason Percival had likely not thrown him off again was because of the danger of Splinching the pair of them if he tried to do so.

They reappeared on a cobblestone street that was unfamiliar to Newt but the address that was neatly emblazoned on the door of the house outside which they had apparated combined with the nearby street sign told Newt exactly whose home they were at. He hastily finished buttoning his shirt against the mild night air and once again grabbed for Percival as he approached the door, hammering upon it with a closed fist for barely a few moments before it was opened.

“Percival, stop! Please, this isn’t his fault.” Newt cried even as Percival gripped his wand all the tighter, shrugging himself once more from Newt’s grip roughly as he took a handful of a deep burgundy embroidered dressing gown and shoved its un-protesting wearer through the door and against the hallway wall. Newt followed, withdrawing his own wand subtlety from his trouser pocket and holding it at his side as the assailed man spoke in a contrastingly calm tone.

“On the contrary, Newt, I’m very much to blame.” Albus’ expression was as collected as his voice, eyes meeting Percival’s firmly, with weight, even as his words were aimed at Newt. Percival however, remained furious, every line of his body tense with it and wand jabbing harshly into Albus’ bearded jaw, the other hand gripping the other wizard’s collar in an unforgiving grip.

“You _told_ me that he was safe. You promised Newt that you would do anything you could to keep him safe and yet you let this happen – _again_! You let your psychotic ex hurt him because you value his life higher than Newt’s. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t do it.”

Newt paled in horror at what Percival was implying, grip tightening on his own wand even as his body began to tremble. “Percival, no! He isn’t the one at fault here – _I_ was the one who encouraged him and _Gellert_ is the one with the thoroughly deranged mind! Albus just-”

Percival cut him off with an impatient snarl, glaring at Newt over his shoulder with a fierceness that shocked him, though it was also laced with a strange kind of sadness it stung, nonetheless. Percival had never looked so furious in front of him – let alone directed _at_ him. “ _No_ , Newt, he’s allowed you to be hurt rather than doing the right thing and executing that bastard like he deserves. He’s done nothing but put you in situations where you’re being used as a damn pawn between him and Grindelwald. And the worst part is that he’s got you convinced that he cares what happens to you! What makes him any better than Grindelwald? Would the world truly not be better off with both of them gone? The only thing stopping Grindelwald from being dead and buried is _him_.” The last words were punctuated by a fierce shake of Albus' bunched up dressing gown in Percival's clenched tight fist, knuckles stark white in fury againgst the blood-hued, expensive looking material. 

The tirade left Newt feeling hollow, furious in a way he couldn’t describe and piteous for the accepting, repentant expression that resided on his mentor’s face. It was like Albus blamed himself almost as much as Percival did – he was quietly accepting of his own failures and Newt couldn’t belay the need he felt to defend his friend in that moment. Swallowing down his decidedly conflicted emotions, he raised his own wand, pointing it at Percival who eyed it and him in shock, eyes darting to meet Newt’s as his grip loosened slightly on Albus’ collar.

“Percival, let go of him.” He sharpened his gaze as Percival hesitated, clearly doubtful of Newt’s actions until Newt added firmly. “Now, Please.” He lowered his wand after a moment more of uncertainty, stepping back and allowing the teacher to move away too, straightening his dressing gown and pyjama collars pointedly. Newt knew that Albus had been allowing Percival’s outburst – capable of freeing himself from the situation even without direct use of his wand, he had been confident in Newt’s ability to talk him down and had seen no reason to hurt Percival unnecessarily in a pointless duel.

The Auror regarded Newt in a seemingly gauging manner before shocking everyone in the hallway by turning and slamming his fist into Albus’ face.

Newt let out a half-squawked cry of indignation and fixed Percival with a reprimanding look even as he got the feeling that the Auror considered himself to be letting the teacher get off lightly. The young magizoologist stepped stiffly around the Auror, using his superior height to his advantage for once to look down at him in disapproval. He understood why Percival had reacted the way he had but it didn’t mean that he approved of it or where it had been targeted. He approached Albus and offered him a thoroughly apologetic, sheepish look as he eyed the dark circle already ringing his friend’s eye. “I’m sorry, Albus.”

He smiled genially, brushing a hand over the affected area in a brisk healing touch with barely a wince. “It’s alright, this isn’t the first time another has taken out their quite justified frustrations in such a way if you recall.” Remembering the state of Dumbledore’s nose after Theseus had gone into the Pensieve with him, Newt nodded shamefacedly, still eying his former mentor warily.

“I’m… sorry for that… again and because of what- what I let happen, I-”

Dumbledore cut him off smoothly with a hand on his shoulder and quiet, meaningful words “Don’t let Gellert make you believe that anything he has done to be your fault, Newt. Director Graves is right in this instance – I failed in my promises to you and those close to you, but I have put into place some precautions that at the very least should leave you time enough to… assemble yourself. Gellert is under much stricter bindings than I previously enforced, and I apologise for not acting sooner.” He glanced over to where Percival hovered, eyes fixed upon the conversing British wizards with something between lingering rage, contriteness and a begrudging relief. “You were right to be angry even if your reaction was more uncouth than was strictly necessary.”

Percival scowled but had it lost its edge now – more bitterly amused and only very slightly repentant. “Perhaps, I do loathe to follow the actions of Theseus… even if they are justified.” Newt huffed out a bitter, sardonic laugh of his own, dragging a hand through his mussed hair and surreptitiously slipping a hand under the collar of his shirt to heal the mark that had started this whole dreadful series of interruptions of what had been an incredibly _stimulating_ situation. He felt a bit better knowing that the petty physical claim was gone from his flesh and that it couldn’t cause the same problems again and he damn well wasn’t going to let it happen again. Percival deserved better than that and for that matter, so did he.

Newt could no longer deny the proof that had been in front of him all along – that he had many people in his life who cared deeply about him – enough so that his pain became theirs and they would fight, even against their better instincts, to alleviate that pain. As terrifying and wholly unnecessary as it was, it gave Newt a better impression that others must seem to see something in him worthy of trusting; not just the way he attracted creatures but something that was likely good enough _– or dark enough –_ to draw others to such protectiveness. It was strange but he found that he appreciated this behaviour far more from Percival than he ever would from anyone else; it made him feel surer that he wasn’t mistaking anything in his feelings for the other man or his for Newt.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, Albus, if you don’t mind, I think it might be best if we take our leave.” Newt bumbled out, feeling the formality rolling of his tongue awkwardly but feeling needed after what had just transpired. He speared Percival with a meaningful look that had even the seasoned Auror quailing slightly under its intensity, shifting a little at the unexpected ferocity from the usually mild magizoologist. Newt could have sworn that he also saw a spark of something he had only seen a few rare times before in the elder’s eyes; an odd kind of excitement that only came when Newt expressed some kind of ferocity. It wasn’t quite amusement but more...marvel; as if he was impressed by it. Newt felt he quite liked that.

He tore his gaze away back to Albus as the two ‘visitors’ moved back down the hall towards the still open door when the man spoke. “Credence is a surprisingly apt student despite his lingering fear of magic and distrust of strangers. I rather think he would appreciate you sitting in on his lessons if you still felt so inclined. He was concerned by your absence despite my assurances.” Newt jerked slightly in surprise at the reminder but nodded.

“Of course.”

“Excellent, his next lesson is scheduled for 9am next Saturday, circumstances permitting.” He tilted his head as Newt nodded again, brows furrowing fondly but with concern leaking through the bond still for Newt to notice only. “Get some rest, Newt, I’m sure that you would benefit to catch up on it while you can.” The double meaning of the words was not lost on any of them and Newt nodded simply and smiled softly, awkwardly one last time before he and Percival grasped hands and apparated back to the street outside Newt’s house.

The young magizoologist opened the door with a wave of his hand, leading the Auror inside by the tight grip on his hand, not saying a word as he pulled him through the house, up the stairs and into Newt’s messy room. He guided him over to his rickety single bed, spinning the bemused American around and pushing him down so that he was sat upon the edge of the old chequered quilt. Newt fixed him with a stern gaze for maybe a moment before surging forwards, pulling Percival’s face into his grip and kissing him fiercely. His partner let out a muffled surprised sound as Newt’s hands worked off both of their shirts again though returned the kiss with almost equal vigour for a few moments before extricating himself. Shirt half-off, looking incredibly flustered, unfairly gorgeous and more than a bit confused he grasped Newt’s wrists when he attempted to reconnect and holding him firmly at arm’s length.

“Newt, Newt, slow down sweetheart, what’s all this about?”

He then let out a low, breathy laugh as Newt quirked an eyebrow, looking down though his lashes at him and replied “Problem?”    

“None at all, but I would have thought that my assaulting your _ass_ of a teacher would have put you out a bit. Was I wrong? If so, I’d be more than happy to go back and break his nose for a second time.”

Newt huffed a bit in his own amusement at the ridiculousness and only half-teasing tone before fixing his partner with a pointed look; not deterred from the goal he had set in his mind but relenting enough to explain it to the Auror. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m not mad at you for what you did to Albus – you may want to ask Theseus on how to deal with spells to remove Ashwinder eggs from your shoes.” His eyes glittered his mischief for a moment before turning serious, mirroring the intensity of the intent riling inside him. “But for now, I want to make sure that you know exactly who my affections lie with; it’s you Percival. Not Albus and most definitely _not_ Gellert Grindelwald. I love you and I want to make sure that you know that I won’t betray like this ever again…. I just hope that you…that you feel...likewise.”

There was an immeasurable pressure within Newt’s chest at the admittance – it was the first time he had said the words aloud and he prayed to Merlin, Morgana, Paracelsus, Medea, Gwydion and anyone else who was willing to listen that he hadn’t made a mistake in doing so. Percival looked shocked at first, but it thankfully dissolved into relief and something unnameable that made Newt melt into that wonderful honey-in-sun sensation that only Percival could elicit from him. “Thank Mercy Lewis, of all the damnable confusing things, Newt, of course I do. I love you. I would have thought that was obvious by now - even to you.” He pulled Newt forward into a tight embrace muttering against his shoulder in relieved, mystified tones. “Idiot, you scare me sometimes you know that, right?”

Newt huffed a laugh against his neck in return “I didn’t think anything could scare the great Percival Graves.”

“You’d be surprised how often its come up as of late.” Percival grumbled before flipping Newt onto the bed beside him with a loud creak of bedsprings, prompting a surprised squawk from the magizoologist as the Auror propped himself up on his elbows above the younger. “Now if you have no objection, I’d like to make a declaration of my own.” Newt giggled slightly and nodded, feeling a pleasant jolt shoot through him as Percival’s lips suddenly found the skin on the opposite side from where Gellert’s mark had resided and he felt the barest scrape of teeth. Percival breathed out warm air onto the skin for a moment, clearly waiting for permission and when Newt bobbed his head fractionally just above him, he took it as consent. The biting, sucking bruise that Percival made was decidedly tenderer than Gellert had been on either occasion he had left his – there was no savagery to it but still a satisfying amount of possessiveness. It was as though he was making a conscious effort not to be brutal even as his baser, more dominating instincts drove him to bite deeper and was instead making sure to not hurt Newt too much – to make sure that he enjoyed it too. Which he most certainly did; it was a near perfect balance of pressure from his teeth, suction of the lips wrapped around the pulse point just above his collarbone and the delightfully sinful knowledge that the man he loved was leaving the mark.

Newt arched into the contact, feeling tingles shooting like an electric current though his skin from the point, feeling further shivers of pleasure roll across him even when Percival drew back a little, lips still brushing the skin and warm-whiskey eyes locked on Newt’s as his tongue came out to soothe the reddened, already bruising skin. Newt found himself grinning lazily down at the Auror as a warm haze settled across him – not quite tiredness but more contentedness. Everything was out in the open between them and whilst Percival’s reaction had been a tad more… dramatic than he had expected it had led to Newt finding the courage to admit his feelings that the pure bliss of finding them reciprocated.

“Percival?” His partner looked up at him, drawing the magizoologist into his arms, pulling him back to lay against his stout, scarred, unbelievably warm chest even as he nodded in silent assent to Newt’s hesitant tone. “Could you- could you… make it permanent?”

Percival regarded him oddly, rolling Newt over to face him in their embrace on the bed, chest to chest and comfortably cosy even without the blanket or their shirts. “Are you sure you want that, Newt?” The young magizoologist nodded sombrely, biting his lip to find adequate words to explain his desire to have Percival’s claim on him something that wouldn’t just fade away with time – the need for a memorandum of stability. The Auror seemed to sense his meaning however as his whiskey-eyes alighted soberly and he withdrew his wand, moving it in an at first hesitant though quickly strengthening manner of the mark as the magic worked to his intentions rather than the format of traditional incantation or spellwork. The love-bite glowed a brief gold against Newt’s pale flesh before settling back to the dark hue of a bruise that resided just above where the other irremovable marks resided on his chest. If Newt was to live out the rest of his life with numerous scars from the whims of a sadistic, deranged, obsessive wizard on his skin then he saw no reason why the man Newt loved couldn’t have just one.

A mark of defiance against Gellert’s sadistic, carnal, perplexing advances. A staked claim.

As he curled up tighter against Percival’s sturdy chest, he closed his eyes and hummed contentedly for the first time in an immeasurably long while. He felt safe to fall asleep for once, both with the assurances of Albus’ stricter precautions and with being wrapped in Percival’s arms. As silly as it might sound, he felt safe.               

**A/N – Sorry bout the wait but as you probably guess this chapter caused me a lot or hesitations and rewrites. I want to balance a reasonable balance for Newt and Percival as there are a mix of difficulties for them in Newt’s inexperience and his troubles. These things often take time even without such issues but at the same time I imagine Newt to have a bit bolder side when it comes to his instincts to match Percival’s temper, more dominating nature and protectiveness over Newt. There’s a bit of a shift coming in the next chapter and I warn anyone who doesn’t like weirdly intense sex to leave about now (or last chapter I guess)**

**….Gellert isn’t done though**


	20. Chapter 20

**“I am thinking it's a sign, that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images and when we kiss they're perfectly aligned.**

**And I have to speculate that God Himself did make us into corresponding shapes like puzzle pieces from the clay.**

**And true it may seem like a stretch but it's thoughts like this that catch my troubled head when you're away when I am missing you to death.**

**…They will see us waving from such great heights, come down now, they'll say, but everything looks perfect from far away come down now, but we'll stay.” – ‘Such great heights’ – The Postal Service**

A life with Newt Scamander was never going to be simple. Percival had expected no less and there was a large part of him that revelled in the fact that his beautiful, brilliant young magizoologist had turned his world so thoroughly upside-down. Splitting his time between New York and London was certainly a significant change, as was the concept of having a group of friends whom he was regularly in contact with. Of course, he had colleagues with whom he conversed, but Newt’s comparatively close-knit circle of friends had come to accept Percival just as much; people who he had known for years but never ventured closer to until Newt drew them all together. Tina, for instance, had become invaluable to him over the previous months in more than simply a professional sense, she had been a confidant with whom he felt he could talk to and someone he could rely upon to restrain the more volatile and disagreeable elements of Theseus’ personality. She had regularly stuck up for Percival’s character and his relationship with Newt, as unbeknownst to Graves until Queenie mentioned it – his assistant director had once been somewhat infatuated with him. For years she had apparently admired him on more of a professional than personal level but now it worked in both their favours as she was fairly well in tune with his moods and temperament. It worked as an advantage now both when in the field and whenever the elder Scamander was making his snide comments that little bit _too_ under the belt; she was adept at diffusing situations despite her awkward disposition. 

The newly-wed Kowalski’s were a little more difficult to get along with due to Queenie’s sometimes overenthusiastic tendency to blurt out secrets but after Percival had worked to remember to employ his occlumency around her, things became easier to handle. Overlooking the murky area of American and international law surrounding relocation in order to marry a No-Maj, he found their company agreeable as well as they were cheery, helpful and quick to lend a hand with anything they could when they weren’t busy working on their new bakery which produced quite possibly the best Cinnamon rolls that Percival had ever tasted. Oddly enough, he had never had a penchant for them until he witnessed how enthused Newt was by the pastries and had decided to try them for himself. He had been surprised by his recently developed sweet tooth but could only blame it on the effect Newt apparently evoked in others; a need to care for him and Queenie seemed to not be exempt as she had often been plying the skinny-not-so-skinny Brit with more confectionary than he considered healthy. Another thing that Percival and Newt happened to share was that they often became so engrossed in their work that they forgot to do necessary things such as eating. In their defence, both had reason enough to be distracted; not only due to the engrossing nature of running an entire country’s security in the midst of a major international crisis and dealing with a Magizoo of dangerous and wilful beasts, but due to the much more complicated issues lying just below the surface.

Two days after Percival had vented his immeasurable frustrations upon the bearded ass that was perhaps inadvertently responsible for so much of Newt’s suffering, the Auror had unfortunately been called back to MACUSA to deal with the mess that had become of the cells in the Woolworth building. He had been called back in the first place because they had managed to finally pinpoint the location of Vinda Rosier – one of Grindelwald’s top lieutenants – and they had managed to capture her along with a dozen of the fanatics that accompanied her. Percival and Harkaway had almost single-handily taken down the group while his junior Aurors had kept stranglers off them and obliviated any nearby No-Maj witnesses as the duelling tore apart the run-down building in Boston. They had been tracing Rosier over the globe from numerous sightings and consequent upheaval that had followed her – raising riots, demonstrations and attacks as well as more subtle but equally disruptive political manoeuvres and Percival had been relieved when they had finally managed to bring her in. She wasn’t a particularly powerful witch, but she was certainly an elusive one and there was no doubt in Percival’s mind that she was following very specific instructions and he was pretty damn sure he knew where they were coming from. Despite the assurances from Newt and his manipulative ass of a professor, Percival _knew_ that Grindelwald was the one pulling all the strings; it was following his patterns to a T and he highly doubted that Grindelwald would trust anyone to think up plans for him. No, he was the one giving orders and now that that had Rosier in custody, they stood a much better chance of finding out exactly _how_ he was contacting his followers despite _supposedly_ being inescapably incarcerated. 

And there was the whole pinnacle of the matter – Gellert fucking Grindelwald. He didn’t regret going after Dumbledore as he had, far from it in fact, he rather wished he’d put more of a scare into the infuriatingly calm man. Percival had decided from that moment that Newt had told him exactly what had happened that if he couldn’t make the dark wizard pay for his actions directly than he was damn sure going to punish the ass who was protecting him. The man who hadn’t stopped Newt from being hurt because he didn’t want to kill Grindelwald out of some stupid lingering sense of affection for the homicidal, sadistic maniac. There was a part of him that admitted that Newt had been right to stop him from hurting the man however, both because he knew that Newt wouldn’t likely forgive him for doing so and because Dumbledore was the only thing keeping Grindelwald imprisoned… or at least was _meant_ to be. But even the logical or empathetic tendencies couldn’t abate his righteous rage and as petty as it was, he had taken a little satisfaction in punching the man.

He regretted how quickly what had been a thoroughly enjoyable and scintillating scenario had quickly descended into darkness when Newt had slid down to his knees in front of him. He had been lost in the shocking but delightfully sinful sight of Newt’s coppery curled head so close to just where he had imagined it more times than he could count. He had been alarmed when the shy Brit had begun making such advances but had at the same time been unbelievably aroused and heartened that he was feeling confident enough in both himself and Percival – in _them_ – that he wanted to do it. Percival had been trying to do anything and everything within his will to avoid rushing the teasingly slow movements Newt was making despite his eagerness, so had taken time to examine the neck and shoulders of his lover; much in the way Newt might when he was avoiding eye contact. He had known for a fact that if he met Newt’s stunning expressive sea-blue eyes then he wouldn’t be able to control himself so tried to make a leaf out of Newt’s book. That’s when it had all gone to hell. When he saw the very distinctive and awfully familiar bruised, livid bite mark on the junction of Newt’s neck and collarbone he had felt almost all the previous satisfaction drain from his body. He hadn’t noticed it earlier because he had been too intent upon the rest of Newt, eyes flickering around or closed as Newt mirrored his own passionate touches. But once he had seen it, he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from it. There had been a few, brief shameful moments when he had thought the worst of Newt - that he had caved to the tensions between them – the lingering doubts he had concerning Percival’s face and the memories it triggered and sought intimacy elsewhere… like for instance in the arms of one of two disconcertingly close and highly influential wizards. His better sense had soon eclipsed the doubt and guilt and concern for Newt had swept in to replace it; he knew that Newt wasn’t that sort of person and the self-loathing and guilt-ridden confessions had torn a hole in Percival’s heart. The idea that Newt blamed himself for what Grindelwald had manipulated and forced him into had angered him beyond expression. The fact that Newt had reduced to a tear-stained, guilt-ridden mess by the reminder of what had been done to him was even worse. Newt had looked like he had been through utter hell. Or rather, it looked like he had faced the gaping jaws of hell and told it to go and bugger right off. It was infinitely astounding to Percival how resilient Newt was in the face of the never-ending stream of bullshit he was being forced through.                 

But even as horrible a disruption as it had been, the resulting confession and brave initiative Newt had taken by admitting his true feelings to Percival had been enough to wash away that pain and guilt in the moment. He had been sure of his feelings for Newt for some time but had not wanted to bring up the full extent lest Newt feel pressured by the confession to claim that he owed it to Percival to reciprocate it. There were still lingering traces of the pain and guilt of course but having the opportunity to stake a claim upon the man he loved made both feel better when the time came that Percival was forced by his duties to leave. He hadn’t wanted to leave Newt so soon after such harrowing events and confessions, but Newt had reassured him that he was going to be fine; that he understood Percival had duties outside of him and that he wasn’t going to begrudge him doing his job. Percival had bestowed him with a fierce, lingering kiss and a promise that he would return as quickly as he was able and agreed to Newt’s request to be careful.  

That brought him to now, sat facing the elegantly dressed though slightly dishevelled woman who held herself with haughty irritation across the interrogation table in the bowels of MACUSA. He knew that Rosier was going to be more difficult to intimidate than Abernathy had been – there must be a reason why she had continued to follow her master to the feats she had after all. She held the disposition of someone who was confident of her position and Graves couldn’t help but feel that whatever she _did_ divulge would only be information that she had been allowed to. Until he could prove that Grindelwald wasn’t as restrained as Dumbledore claimed he was, Percival would just have to work upon the unspoken assumption that the dark wizard was aware of anything and everything. It wasn’t safe to assume anything when it came to the bastard, but it was better to trust nothing connected to him than to pretend he believed otherwise.

Rosier didn’t seem as affected by his resolute stare as others of the same cause he had interrogated had been; sitting perfectly at ease and regarding him through long lashes, black silk dress barely creased despite the fact that her hands were chained behind her back. In fact, she seemed almost amused by his presence and was regarding him in turn with a contrastingly mild expression that reminded Percival irritatingly enough of a copy of Grindelwald’s natural demeanour. Damn deluded fanatics were going to cause him an aneurism one of these days. He almost missed the days when all he had to worry about was smugglers, the odd duel and a few frightened No-Majs.

“Miss Rosier.” Percival began, eye flicking briefly over her file before back up to her as she inclined her head politely. “You’ve been rather busy as of late.”          

“You’ve caused chaos across three continents in the space of the three years but have been resorting to more vicious tactics only after the imprisonment of your leader. You are responsible for the murders of over fifty No-Majs in the past year alone as well as the deaths and injuries of a further ten Aurors.” He levelled her with a direct stare, his distaste for the woman leaking through only through the set of his jaw, keeping his eyes cold and hard. “Yet you have the audacity to claim that you are working directly upon the orders of Gellert Grindelwald.”        

 She laughed lightly, a tinkling, mocking sound that set his teeth on edge in its carelessness. “But of course.”

He flipped the folder in front of him closed, leaning forward slightly “My question, as you are likely aware, concerns just why you believe that Grindelwald is any sort of position to be giving out orders.”

She smirked slightly, tilting her head to the side as she did so “My lord reveals himself to the chosen few with whom he has placed his implicit trust.”           

“And how exactly is he doing this from his imprisonment?”

“I could be wrong, but shouldn’t you be figuring that out for yourself, Director Graves? You are the Auror here after all.”

He ignored the trivial jab and continued with his stern line of questioning “Are you working on longstanding orders that you have merely adapted to your own purposes and claimed that Grindelwald has issued them to instil further fear into the wizarding community?”

She laughed again, though this time the sound was throatier and more genuine seeming “Why are you so keen to believe that I am lying to you, Director? Is it because you fear what will transpire should my master find you again?”

Percival’s jaw clenched very slightly but he ignored the further prodding, refusing to bow to the petty bait of a condemned witch. “I am merely trying to ascertain whether you are in fact as trusted by your ‘master’ as you believe or if you are merely delusional.”        

Her smile slipped slightly, jaw tightening a little and Percival smirked internally; he had found a weak spot it seemed. “My lord has revealed more to me than he has to anyone. I carry out his will directly as he orders it. He appears to me in flesh alone so that I might lead the fight for the greater good whilst he is else occupied.”  

“You alone you say? Well, I’m afraid you’re wrong there, Miss Rosier, from what my other informants have told me, I have it on reliable intel that Gunnar Grimmson has also claimed to have seen Grindelwald in person. Perhaps you aren’t as favoured as you thought if a mere bounty hunter had been allowed the same… ‘privilege’ as you.”     

Her lips pursed and her accent broadened noticeably as she replied tartly “Grimmson is nothing but a lapdog – fit for a purpose but not of any real consequence. If my lord has revealed himself to others it is in his wisdom and for his own purposes.” She forced a smile that didn’t quite reach her dark eyes. “Just another piece of proof that we are too numerous to be stopped by the likes of you.”           

“The extent to which you believe in Grindelwald’s fanatical obsessions is irrelevant, I am here to ascertain if your claims are true.” He said brusquely, steepling his fingers before him “When you allegedly meet with Grindelwald, what does he do? Where does this happen? How frequently?”

“He shows me finer details of his great design; tells me who to strike, when and… Just. How. Hard.” Her painted lips curved in a malicious smile, eying him goadingly as she leant forward as far as the chains would allow her.

“Who does he want you to strike?” Percival asked, fearing that he knew the answer but not wanting to give anything away by asking specifically about Newt or any of his friends.

“People who deserve it.” Rosier replied flippantly though with a disgusted curl of her lip, Percival’s hands clenching slightly as his mind flashed to the countless scenes of violence that he had witnessed caused by the woman in front of him. She may not be powerful but her fanatic obsession with Grindelwald had left her with a devotion to violence that often left her victims in states too gruesome to linger upon. Men, women, children, wizards, witches – it didn’t seem to matter to her as long as she continued her master’s design.

“Miss Rosier, I’m sure you’re aware that we have numerous means at our disposal with which to make you answer honestly so I’d advise you to comply.”

“I’m no weak-hearted wretch like those you have brutalised before, Graves, your petty threats don’t scare me.”

“I’m not threatening you, Miss Rosier; merely stating facts and suggesting that you make this easier on yourself.”

She leant forward then, eyes burning with something not quite sane that would have startled another man, but as it was, Percival merely regarded her coolly “You’re not the only one whose been taught to resist Veritaserum. So, what’s it to be Graves? Imperius? Torture? I’m sure you have plenty of experience in the area after all. That you know exactly what to do to make someone scream?”

Percival’s jaw clenched tighter still “Your attempts to make this personal are pointless. You will answer my questions one way or another.”

She tilted her head in something close to curiosity then, smile like a snake’s “Does your pet Magizoologist answer all of your questions, Director? Is he honest with you?” He flinched very slightly at that; wrongfooted in the moment at the mention of Newt but she clearly noticed, and her smile widened. “I thought not. Tell me, Graves, do you tell him about what _you_ do? All the people _you_ hurt and kill in the name of _your_ greater good? For your precious MACUSA? Do you tell him about all that you have done for what your regime stands for? What makes you any better than my lord Grindelwald? He may inspire others to sacrifice their lives for the cause but at least he allows them to know exactly what it is they are fighting for. It’s better to die fighting for truth and freedom than live out a lie, protecting a regime that keeps the circle of deception going.”

“Honesty? You think that’s what he stands for? He thrives upon the suffering of others, enjoys inflicting pain and sewing the seeds of chaos that will only grow to cause more. Even if he did stand for freedom – is it really worth the cost of countless lives and the most basic of human decency to achieve it?” Graves found himself biting back; regretting being drawn into a moral debate that rose issues he may be surer of on a larger scale but disliked being challenged upon. MACUSA’s system of governance may not be perfect but it was far better than the alternative; any world where Gellert Grindelwald was leading it was in no way acceptable to any sane-thinking individual.

“Are you telling me that you’ve never taken satisfaction in hurting or killing another, knowing that it is in the name of a better cause?” Graves didn’t reply but neither did he allow his answer show on his face; she seemed to take his silence for it meant however and smirked, sitting back in her chair again. “For all your prattle and power, you are nothing better than the _sang de bourbe_ scum I took care of recently. You waste good blood on an unworthy master. At least I have the honesty to admit that my lord is my master – you don’t recognise how controlled you really are.” She arched a delicate eyebrow at him condescendingly “I don’t know why my lord didn’t just kill you when he had the chance.”

“Well if he changes his mind, he’ll have to join a very long line.” Graves bit out, picking up the folder and standing swiftly, with irritation straining his joints. He knew he wasn’t likely to get any more out of her today so decided to leave her to stew in the highest security cells for a bit until her tongue either loosened or he was feeling more inclined to filter through her fanatical blather. “I hope you reconsider my offer soon, Miss Rosier. It would be in both of our best interests if you did so. I can’t imagine that Grindelwald will appreciate his favourite lackey being imprisoned or the risk you represent to his plans. The last of your colleagues I assisted in the capture of ended up brutally murdered in their cells. While that may not reflect well on the competency of British Aurors, it also doesn’t bode well for how long you might last.”

With that, he left, giving explicit instructions to the nearby guards to escort Rosier to a high security cell without delay and no less than six Aurors present. Percival made his way back up to his office to collect his things before taking a Floo-connection back to his apartment. He trusted his Aurors more than he had the British lot – especially after the reprimand he gave them earlier that day concerning etiquette in the field and the proper handling of terrorist threats. Many of them were either far too heavy-handed with the use of dangerous spells or else took a much too timid approach; they didn’t seem to quite grasp the fact that a simple disarming and stunning spell combo was often the most efficient way to defeat an opponent. As their workload had increased recently due to Grindelwald’s activities, the department had been forced to lower the standards for recruitment so as to take on more numbers. To Picquery at least, boots on the ground were more important than pre-existing skill, so she had left the task of training the new Aurors to Graves and the senior Aurors on the job. Fortunately, Percival had found that he could rely enough upon Jared Harkaway and Dortha Aridian – two of the longest serving Aurors after himself – with the training and delegation of duties.

Tina had become more involved with international relations as of late alongside her assigned duties in watching over Credence to ensure another incident did not occur. He had noticed that she had seemed more harassed recently – likely because of her new roles and the constant travelling between London and America. Percival had been tempted to tell her to take some personal days but knew that even if he did, she likely wouldn’t accept them. The one thing Tina could always be counted upon was being stubborn. She seemed happy nonetheless, both for her near-constantly ecstatic sister and with her own relationship with Theseus; despite Percival’s reservations about the man, he could see that they seemed to be well-suited for one another. Both career-driven, fiercely loyal, a bit tightly strung and both in desperate need of an affectionate relationship from which they could both benefit. Tina had been alone as long as Percival had known her and from her nervous temperament, he doubted she was one to indulge in too many random hook-ups. Theseus may be a bit of a mess in terms of his engagement break-off and all the utter bullshit that had occurred with Newt, but he seemed to be mellowing a bit with Tina’s careful, stern kindness. He didn’t doubt that the regular sex that they were not-so-subtle about was probably something to do with their better moods either, but Percival purposefully strived to divert his brain from such trains of thought.

Not only because it wasn’t something that he really wanted to envision but because it led him to think of just how long it had been since he had indulged in such pleasures. Obviously, he found _other_ outlets for those tensions but since he and Newt had begun to get increasingly closer on that front, he found himself picturing more and more lewd scenarios between himself and the magizoologist now that he had discovered that Newt apparently _did_ have a streak of daring when it came to such things. It was absolutely astounding to Percival how much of an effect the surprisingly leanly muscled Brit could have on him from the merest glance of those brilliantly unique eyes or from the ghosting touch of his soft, yet calloused fingers could have on him. And those damn pouty lips. He didn’t care what Newt said – he _must_ know just exactly what he doing to Percival every time he did that stupid, vague yet irresistible smouldering look of his. If Percival didn’t know any better, he would swear his partner was trying to drive him insane with temptation.

He could understand why Newt might be feeling pressured into making sexual advances in their relationship – both out of their shared desire and out of a need to challenge the demented advances that were being made on him in circumstances out of his control. Percival knew that Newt had asked him to make the love-bite permeant as a stand against Grindelwald’s attempts to claim him and it had been a request Percival had been only too happy to fulfil. He hated the fact that he was helpless to prevent any of the continued horrors that dogged Newt’s sleep and had felt a thrill of satisfaction that even in a redundantly symbolic way he had challenged the sick fucker who was trying to rape his partner under the guise of caring. He doubted the psychopath could even experience such emotions and even if he did, whatever he felt for Newt damn well wasn’t it – it was delusion, sadism and lust rolled into a pressurised package that could explode at any moment. Percival feared the time when it would do so and what the consequences would be for Newt. He had spent much of his spare time racking his brains to think of a way to prevent Grindelwald getting into Newt’s head but had begrudgingly concluded that if Dumbledore and Newt hadn’t found a way by now then it was unfortunately likely that he wouldn’t either.   

Looking at the clock on the wall he realised that it was nearing midnight in London so Newt would likely be asleep right now – an activity he had only seemed comfortable in taking part in since Dumbledore had put whatever ‘extra precautions’ in place he had meant. Newt had slept soundly in Percival’s arms for the night after the incident and he could only hope that the same was true right now, even in his absence. There was part of him that was tempted to simply stay in New York and go out to his favourite bar to have few drinks in order to release the tension that had been building within him lately. But that part was overridden by the thoughts of the behaviours he had left behind since meeting Newt; he no longer drank in public aside from the gatherings with Newt’s friends and even then, he did so less heavily than he had in years. He no longer took home random witches and wizards who happened to be tempted in by his alluring aura and he found that he didn’t miss it. Sure, it was certainly a struggle to reign in his libido without the opportunity to fuck whenever he felt like it but what he had with Newt was undeniably better. It was stable, it was healthy, and he loved Newt – he wouldn’t trade that for all the casual sex in the world even if his libido tried to convince him otherwise.

Percival decided that even should Newt prove to be asleep he would feel better guarding over that sleep from the couch downstairs rather than from a thousand miles away. He still didn’t entirely trust Dumbledore’s promises that Newt was temporarily safe from Grindelwald’s advances – he had promised Newt the same before and look at what had happened. No, he would feel much better being nearer his partner and he didn’t doubt that Newt would either. He activated the connection between from his fireplace to Newt’s and stepped through the bright green flames in the familiar unpleasant swirl of sensations before arriving in the shabby living room of Newt’s home. Clucking his tongue a little at the general mess, he flicked a hand at the room, ordering it a little but not in an invasive manner – simply righting toppled stacks of sketch paper, discarded quills, cushions and the odd apple core that littered the table. He smiled a little fondly when he saw that the light around the cellar door was still lit, the door slightly ajar in the way that suggested Newt was still inside and so was able to prevent too many critters from escaping.

Percival made his way down into the cellar, stepping unhurriedly and quietly – lest he actually be resting - down the staircases and looking about for a sign of his partner, feeling slightly relieved when he saw him crouched down beside the Zouwu in a new enclosure – likely recently transferred from the case into the cellar. Newt looked dusty, dishevelled and tired as ever but still adorably enthused as the giant, tusked feline nudged him playfully with it’s huge plumed tail. He spoke under his breath to him in what sounded like chastising tones.

“Honestly, you’d think you were still a kitten from the way you behave. S’to be expected I suppose.” Newt tilted his head slightly as the Zouwu made a disgruntled sounding purr-roar and tutted with a chuckle. “Yes, yes I know you probably have better instincts than I do but it doesn’t mean that I don’t notice some things.” He looked up without looking behind but directed the next words over his shoulder “Like sneaky git Aurors trying to get the drop on me.” and Percival found himself smirking, paused on the final step, hands in pockets; completely unrepentant.

“Finally developing some survival instincts then, eh?”

Newt huffed a laugh, patting a hand briefly upon the Zouwu’s tusk before turning to grin at him through his fringe. “Perhaps, or maybe you’re just not as quiet as you used to be.”

Percival pretended to wince at the comment, pressing a hand to his faux-wounded heart and grinned too “Ouch, Newt, careful there, never go for a man’s age like that. I’m no spring chicken but it doesn’t mean I can’t be stealthy when I want to be.”

Newt chuckled, stepping away from Henry and wiping his hands on a nearby rag that leant over the side of a fence as he approached the bottom step where Percival stood. “You’re almost as damning of your age as Albus is.” He tilted his head shyly, looking up at Percival through his fringe which caught in the artificial sunlight of the new enclosure. “There’s really no need. You certainly don’t act your age… whatever it is.”

Percival chuckled heartily in return to the obviously tenuously open-ended comment “Is this your roundabout way of asking my age, Newt?”

He flushed pink and ducked his head more than a little awkwardly “Not that it really matters to me of course but I was just wondering…”

Percival smiled patiently and stepped down to be on level with Newt and took his hand in an attempt to abate his obvious embarrassment. “I’m forty-two, not quite as old as most who have had my job but still old enough for my mother to be worrying about never getting any grandchildren.” He made the comment flippantly, remembering the latest in a long string of not-so-subtle inquiries on the matter that his mother had made in a letter he received just the day before. She had apparently finally seen one of the many articles concerning him and Newt in the Daily Prophet so had asked after the truth in her letter; he had yet to reply and if he could help it, he doubted he was going to.  

Newt looked oddly curious however and squeezed his hand slightly, tilting his head with a slight frown “Do you ever wonder about that?”

Percival’s brows furrowed a little at the question, thumb stroking along Newt’s hand in the way he did when he was trying to comfort him, he felt Newt relax slightly into the touch. “Children?”

“Yes, I suppose its normal to want that sort of thing isn’t it? I mean… you like women too so it could still happen…if you weren’t… well…with me.”

Realising what Newt was worried about he laughed lowly under his breath though his eyes remained serious “You’re concerned that I’m giving something up by being with you.” Newt nodded mutely, looking troubled – sheepish even, and Percival tilted his chin up to look at him “If I wanted to continue the Graves line as badly as my mother wanted me to, don’t you think I would have done so by this point?”

“I suppose, yes, but still…” Percival shushed him with a finger over Newt’s unfairly expressive pink lips and smiled softly at him.

“What’s brought all this on?”

Newt made a face and turned his head a little so that Percival’s finger resided only on the corner of his lips, Percival curled it slightly to caress the crease and brought his hand up to cup Newt’s cheek with the rest as Newt spoke with a tired smirk “I don’t know... I guess I’m just a little tired and being around the Mooncalves and the expecting Runespoor all day probably hasn’t helped anything.” He laughed lightly and Percival nodded though feeling concern needle at him all the same, he got the feeling there was more to it but didn’t press the matter; instead eying the dark circles under Newt’s sea-blue eyes.

“Have you been sleeping alright? No more visits?”

Newt blinked bemusedly for a moment before shaking his head “No, I haven’t tried to sleep since-” he cut himself short and his expression crumpled causing Percival to sigh.

“You don’t want to risk it happening again.” He paused before venturing “You seemed pretty solid the night before last, did it help? Me being there? Or was it whatever Dumbledore did?”

Newt’s brow creased “I didn’t dream at all… I don’t know what it was, but I have the feeling that Gel- Grindelwald let me sleep… I mean… when he was spelled silent before it didn’t affect him being able to get me there. I think he… realised that he crossed a line. Backed off a bit, maybe?”

Percival didn’t like the way that Newt was trying to humanise the monster who was causing him such continued suffering but a part of him could understand that the magizoologist likely had a better gauge of the situation than he did. Being entuned emotionally and mentally with the dark wizard was bound to mess with Newt’s perceptions of such things. Damn stupid blood-pact. “Never stopped him before.” Newt flinched very slightly, and Percival cursed himself inwardly for being so careless as to let his irritation leak out like that.

“No, it didn’t but what you asked before… you did help me feel… safe. Well, saf _er_.” He tilted his head very slightly so the finger that was at corner of his lips was drawn just inside the warmth of his mouth. Percival had to hold a groan at the sensation of Newt’s warm, wet tongue on the very tips of his finger, inwardly scolding himself for being so affected while they were talking about serious matters. Newt’s eyes were lidded, fixed upon the back of Percival’s hand and his own came up to rest on Percival’s hip, drawing them closer together, the Auror released a heavy, low breath before he noticed the slight smirk that rested upon the lips that were curved around his next finger, drawing that in too. He got back enough coherency to realise that Newt was deliberately trying to distract him and let an amused huff of breath escape him as he tilted his forehead forward to meet Newt’s with a light thump, able to do so due to the angle they were at on the steps.

“Morgana’s Mercy, Newt, have I really had such a corrupting influence on you?” He felt Newt laugh slightly against his hand and the magizoologist withdrew; both to the simultaneous relief and disappointment of the pair. Newt smiled at him oddly, hazily but with something that gripped Percival’s heart tight in his chest, prompting him to pull the younger man closer, Newt stumbled as his boots hit the edge of the step Percival was still stood upon and in his attempt to keep standing he gripped hastily for Percival’s shirt, causing him to stumble forward off the step. Newt managed to steady them both before either fell but it prompted the magizoologist to sigh deeply, pressing his forehead against Percival’s, flushing bright red and giggling like a schoolboy. The Auror realised why as he looked behind the younger man and saw that the Zouwu had stepped up behind him to prevent Newt from falling and was currently nudging his head into the Brit’s back in an inquisitive manner.  

“Thank you, Henry, yes, no imminent danger here except for my own clumsiness.” Percival chuckled and pulled Newt forward, safe in the stability of solid ground now that neither was on a step. He wrapped his hands around Newt’s waist, pulling him in closer so that their lips met and Percival found himself savouring the taste of the other man, the soft firmness of his lips, the sweet breath that blew against his cheek in the brief pauses and the way he allowed Percival to explore his mouth further with his tongue. Despite Newt’s apparent lack of experience, he certainly managed to be able to run on pretty damn impressive instincts if that was what they were, or maybe it was just because it was _Newt_. Whatever it was, Percival always found that kissing Newt brought him more pleasure than anyone else – usually he only employed kissing as an expression of interest, something to work up to the good stuff, but with Newt he found that he genuinely enjoyed it. They only pulled apart when Newt made a small sound of protest against his lips and Percival was quick to withdraw, looking at Newt in confusion but realising that it wasn’t due to discomfort but more the fact that Newt still had a huge feline pressed at his back. He could understand why being sandwiched between a temperamental Zouwu and the person you were currently lip-locking might be a bit awkward.  

“Sorry, but I don’t think he’s going to leave of his own accord, plus I think I should get him back into his enclosure for the night before he starts trying to eat the others. Again.” Percival huffed out a laugh though nodded as he heard a low growl issue from the beast in question. Newt offered him an apologetic look and quickly went about procuring a nearby fluffy-faced toy, guiding Henry back into his enclosure and quickly beginning to set wards over it again. When he was done, he turned back to Percival and gestured towards the stairs which the two began to climb together, Newt rubbing a weary hand through his hair and along the back of his neck as they did so. Percival noticed a slight frown on his face and raised an eyebrow “Something on your mind?”

Newt shrugged as they reached the door that led back into the main house “I get the feeling there’s something I’m missing with Henry – haven’t met a Zouwu before and the reading on them is sketchy at best because of their rarity and dodgy translations.” He made a face, going about the kitchen in a seemingly mechanical motion, setting together the trappings for tea as Percival leant against the table, watching his movements with casual interest. Percival couldn’t help but admire how Newt’s slightly-too-tight shirt clung to the muscles of his shoulder as he reached up to retrieve mugs from the cabinet or how the light of the worn-out lightbulb above caught the gold streaks in his hair. 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out whatever it is.” He commented lightly when Newt handed him a cup, taking a sip before smiling fondly at him. “I don’t believe there’s a beast alive that could confound you for long.”

Newt snorted into his own cup slightly and raised a sceptical brow “You have met the Nifflers, right?”

“Point taken, but even then, they haven’t yet made off with everything of value in the house yet have they? I’d call that a win in itself.”

“That’s only because the most valuable material in the house happens to be branded into my skin.” Newt commented in an offhanded manner, but he could hear a slight bitterness residing in the tone. Newt often got uncomfortable about the presence of the silver markings and now that he knew about what the marks represented and caused, Percival could understand why.

He stepped forward, placing his cup of tea on the side and running a hand very lightly along Newt’s left arm, the skin exposed up to the elbow by his rolled sleeves. Newt shuddered very slightly, and Percival froze his movements “I’m sorry, does it hurt?” Newt shook his head, flushing lightly and looking away, Percival frowned and tilted Newt’s chin up to meet his gaze with patient concern.

“It-… I think that touching it also touches the connection between the three of us – its what causes those silver flashes, like the ones that happened the last times I got into fights. It’s worse when magic hits it of course, but I think that touching it too much has an effect too… like it wakes up or something similar at least.” Percival nodded, remembering the strange silver lights he had seen when Newt had been attacked in his home and during the fight to rescue the Zouwu. He didn’t much like the idea of either connected wizard witnessing anything between him and Newt so made a mental note to avoid touching the markings in future if he could help it. Instead he moved his hand to cup Newt’s neck and pull him in for another kiss, this one deep and lingering, he tugged lightly at Newt’s bottom lip with his teeth and delighted in the shuddering breath it prompted from the magizoologist.

Newt’s hands were in his hair then, tugging lightly and angling both of them for better access, Percival smiled, moving his lips down Newt’s jaw and down the column of smooth, creamy skin to mouth at the mark he had left days before. Inhaling Newt’s woodsy, unique smell, he growled lowly under his breath, feeling his baser instincts taking over as he pulled at the buttons on Newt’s shirt; for once letting his usual care go a bit. There was a part of him that was worried that if he went too slowly then some new damn disaster or interruption would separate them and from the hard press of strained material he could feel pressing against his own crotch he got the distinct feeling that Newt didn’t want that either.

Percival had Newt’s shirt off in a matter of seconds, sending buttons skittering across the floor in his haste and he felt Newt’s breath stutter in his bare chest against his own. He drew his head back briefly from where he had been mouthing at Newt’s collarbone to check that Newt was still alright and felt further arousal spike through him as he saw the slightly glazed but clearly lustful look in Newt’s beautiful eyes. There was wonder there too, as if he was were surprised that Percival would enjoy this as much as he did; unable to deny it now that the hard evidence was pressed so close against him. Percival took the doubt as a challenge in that moment; aiming to make sure that Newt knew exactly how uniquely wonderful he was and the effect he had on him. He was someone who had been dealt an incredibly unfair hand in life with the idiots and sadistic fucks that surrounded him – none who appreciated just how incredible he was or if they did, they attempted to go about showing it to him in all the wrong ways.

The Auror pushed such thoughts from his head and focussed instead upon mapping out every single inch of Newt’s upper body with his hands and lips – that was safe to do so anyway, taking care to avoid the silver scars. Percival heard Newt let out a long, low moan and grinned against his right shoulder, feeling a hand move up in-between them to fumble at his own shirt buttons; taking mercy on Newt’s trembling digits he assisted the younger’s endeavours by simply magicking his own shirt off and left it to float over to the table where it folded itself neatly. “Bloody show off.” He heard Newt groan out even as his fingers began to trace the lines of muscle of Percival’s biceps and slowly over his chest, Percival drawing in sharp breath when those soft yet worn fingertips brushed across his nipples. He felt sparks lance through him and another low sound escaped his chest, pushing Newt tight against himself and moving the hand not around the back of the redhead’s neck to pull at his belt. He undid it quickly, pulling it out of the loops in one smooth motion before dropping it on the kitchen floor alongside Newt’s discarded shirt and made to undo the button on Newt’s trousers too.

Percival felt stuck between the desire to laugh and sigh in exasperation when the Magizoologist’s trousers instantly slid halfway down his legs, evidently not being able to be held up by the skinny hips alone. Newt flushed brilliant red all over, his freckles almost blending with the darker hue as he attempted to awkwardly shimmy them down the rest of the way and almost slipped over as they caught on his boots. For the second time that night, Percival found himself reaching out to catch Newt but this time it was the younger man’s quick thinking that saved them instead of a Zouwu. There was a quick swirl of colour and uncomfortable pressure and suddenly they were falling onto Newt’s bed upstairs instead of the kitchen floor, both shared a breathy set of chuckles as they bounced slightly before Percival rolled Newt under him, hands brushing down the newly exposed flesh of Newt’s impossibly long legs. The younger man’s boots having been apparently been tugged free in his attempts to divest himself of his trousers and left behind when they apparated. _Damn speedy Scamander apparition._

He saw a brief flash of something close to fear shoot through Newt’s expression and was fully prepared to withdraw again before determined and distinctly tender look overrode that quick flare and he pulled Percival down by the neck for another kiss. Percival only pulled back once Newt had been thoroughly kissed, leaving his lips looking unfairly plump and swollen and his own mouth still alight with the feeling of his tongue. Percival was still holding back for Newt’s sake but felt his resolve slip further at the wanting look on Newt’s face - lips slightly parted, pupils blown wide, almost obscuring the brilliant sea-blue irises. He sighs out a low curse under his breath and thumbs at the waistband of Newt’s underwear, feeling Newt tremble and his grip on Percival’s shoulders tighten almost painfully. Percival makes sure to keep eye contact with the other man as he lowers his lips to Newt’s stomach, kissing a blazing trail down to the dip of his pronounced hips and pausing for just a moment as Newt arches slightly under him. He smirks against the skin when he skims over the tented fabric of his boxers and instead continues the trail down his leg, pressing kisses to every muscle, mark and curve he could reach, retracing the pattern back up the other leg until he reached Newt’s chest again. Newt moaned when Percival barely brushed his lips over one nipple, flicking at the other almost idly whilst he drew the first into his mouth. He barely scraped his teeth across it when Newt jerked under him, breath stuttering out in a low groan and he smiled knowingly before laving the raised pink nub with his tongue in a much more thorough manner.    

He couldn’t bring himself to regret his teasing however as Newt released another, throatier moan that sent a spike of arousal through him straight to his already aching erection but found that he had to fight off further cursing when Newt’s hand found its way to his groin and began palming him though the straining fabric of his trousers. “Newt…” He breathed out his name as both an encouragement and a curse for the temptation and pressure the younger man was putting upon his already strained sense of control. The American didn’t want to ruin anything by doing something that would inadvertently put Newt onto a train of thought that made him think of Grindelwald’s impersonation of him. He cursed having to find a balance between his own desires and restraint for the sake of what that bastard had done using his face but did so for Newt’s sake; determined that this _could_ work. Newt shouldn’t have to be afraid of this just because of what Grindelwald had done and Percival was going to do his best to help in any way he could to make this as good for Newt as he could.

Newt seemed to be concerned of no such thing however as his dexterous fingers made their way through the fastenings of Percival’s trousers and slid into his underwear without much hesitation or falter. Percival felt heat rush though him as Newt’s perfectly soft-calloused fingers slid across his lower abdomen and along his shaft in a movement that had him throwing caution to the wind and practically ripping Newt’s underwear off along with his own in an admittedly careless display of wandless magic, sending the last restraining garments flying across the room. Newt let out a gasp, hand temporarily withdrawing from where he had been lightly fingering the tip of Percival’s cock and the Auror took advantage of the leverage by returning the touch in kind. Newt let out a throaty groan and gripped Percival’s arm tightly, Percival quickly withdrew, fearing the worst but felt shock surge though him however, mingling potently with the arousal as Newt flipped them so that Percival’s back hit the mattress and Newt was suddenly straddling him. He looked almost rueful even as he shimmied down to straddle his knees, head leaning forward, breathing out heated air along with words against the tip of Percival’s straining erection. “It’s… its easier this way.” 

Percival was prepared to tell Newt that he should do whatever he felt he needed to do to be comfortable in this but didn’t manage more than a nod before Newt’s soft pink lips were pressing to the tip of his cock. He released a strangled groan, low in his throat, fighting the urge to fist his hands in Newt’s coppery curls as the other man tongued his slit with unfairly teasing tentativeness. One of the Magizoologist’s hands was braced tight against the Auror’s collarbone, nails digging in slightly while the other moved to fist the base of his cock. The tentativeness of the movements slowly evaporated as Newt seemed to grow in confidence, urged on by the entirely undignified groans that were leaving Percival and by the way the Auror couldn’t help but weave his fingers into Newt’s fringe, making sure to keep the grip light even when Newt’s tongue glided down the side of his length in a bone-melting sensation. He was about to tell Newt to stop lest he embarrass both by spending far too early when the magizoologist drew back slightly from where his nose had been nearly touching the skin of Percival’s abdomen and he engulfed Percival in the warm, wet _amazing_ heat of his mouth.

Percival swore loudly as Newt’s tongue caressed his shaft, hand moving to lightly cup his balls as the moved his lips around Percival’s cock. It was the hardest thing he could remember having to do not to begin thrusting relentlessly into the ridiculously talented mouth, remembering that Newt had not done anything like this before and that doing so would likely just gag him. His restraint was pushed almost past its limits when Newt sank deeper, only flinching slightly before a moan vibrated around him and Percival lost it. “Of all the Lewis damned mixes, Newt!” He hissed the words through clenched teeth and the magizoologist allowed Percival to pop from his lips in a quick jerk up and backwards, looking worried. Percival gripped him by the hands when they almost unconsciously tried to move back to towards what seemed to be the entire centre of Percival’s being right now. There was a part of Percival that was yelling at him that manhandling Newt like this was a sure-fire way to cause trouble and trigger dreadful memories but the look of Newt’s face and the need that seemed to exude from every part of him overrode that. “And you tell me you haven’t done anything like this before?”

Newt smiled a little sheepishly but there a familiar, unrepentant gleam in his eyes that Percival usually only saw when he was defending the actions of some creature or another – a fierce, unapologetic passion that only Newt seemed to possess. “I’ve been told I’m a fast-learner?” his voice was hazy with passion but also sounding distinctly surprised, as if he was proud at picking up something so quickly on mere instinct. Newt never seemed to run short of ways to surprise him.  

Percival practically growled as he leant down to savagely kiss at the younger man’s collarbone, re-doubling the mark he had left before – quite unnecessarily – but enough so that Newt’s erection pressed harder than ever against Percival’s stomach. His cock was of a similar length to Percival’s though slimmer and based in a nest of curls that matched the hair on the rest of him; lightly shining copper that formed the base of a trailing V line of downy hair that began at his bellybutton. Percival took in every inch of his partner that he could in those moments, pinning the Magizoologist’s wrists with a careful but firm pressure to the pillow above him. He left the grip so that Newt knew he could pull out of it should he desire to, but he seemed content enough as he squirmed impatiently under Percival, slightly leaking cock bobbing a little as his hips rocked upwards, seeking blindly. “What do you want, Newt? Tell me.”

Newt flushed but Percival could tell it was embarrassment mixing potently with arousal as his pupils blew wider, lips parting to speak several times before he swallowed and finally managed words. “Y-you Percy… I want you.” He arched his hips again into Percival and the Auror barely muffed a groan against Newt’s shoulder as his head fell forward at the delicious friction it created between them. He persisted with his own teasing however, delighting in the building tension between them and the deliciously desperate need he could practically feel rolling of Newt’s moon and freckle kissed skin.

“What do you want, Newt?”

Newt arched again, moaning and looking confused but needy all the same, lips parted and eyes wide “Percival please!”

Taking pity on him, Percival reached between them and gripped Newt’s cock tight, resulting in a sound that was nearly a whimper as the Magizoologist’s eyes fluttered shut. He began to try thrusting up into the grip, but Percival released a throaty chuckle and used a knee to gently press him back down onto the mattress. He leant forward and breathed out honey-sweet words by Newt’s ear, catching the lobe briefly and tugging before leaning back again, stroking his thumb across Newt’s head, rolling back his foreskin very slightly, just enough to make him cry out and buck his hips up again. “Patience, sweetheart.”              

“Ass.” Percival tutted with a grin as Newt glared up at him faintly rebelliously before Percival moved the hand gripping Newt’s cock down and to the puckered entrance between his thighs, fixing him with a contrastingly sober stare as he lightly traced a fingertip around the rim.  

“Are you sure you want this, Newt? We can wait if you’re not ready. There’s plenty of other things we can-” He was cut off as Newt shook his head, biting his slightly swollen pink, plush lips before speaking.

“No, no, I want to- please Percival.” Not needing any further encouragement, he pressed his fingers into his own mouth, sucking on the digits enough so that they were suitably lubricated before moving them down to press at Newt’s hole once more, pushing in very slightly. He was careful, impressively retrained despite his eagerness and kept his eyes fixed upon Newt’s face as it tensed up slightly, jaw clenching, and he took care not to cause any more pain than was needed as the ring of muscle began to give under his pressure. He wished they were back in his place in New York where he had potions and lubricants for this sort of thing but as Newt was unable to do so due to the damn stupid law and he didn’t fancy the prospect of being caught having sex in his apartment by Aurors, much less by Newt’s brother.

He withdrew his finger again, ready to re-wet them when Newt caught his wrist and sucked the fingers back into his own mouth, tongue dancing over the tips and teeth grazing his purposefully short cut nails. Percival let out a low groan and allowed the teasing, sinful sensation to continue until his arousal had become too painful to bear much longer and he withdrew them to continue the necessary ministrations. This pattern continued on for some time, taking as much time as was needed despite both feeling practically shaken apart by the shared need that hummed in the air between them. He made sure to distract Newt from the building pressure and uncomfortable stretching by pressing kisses to his lips, jaw, neck and every inch of skin he could reach. In between each kiss he whispered what – in any other circumstances, would have been sweet-nothings - to Newt, telling him how beautiful he was, how amazing and unique. He meant every word now however and made sure to twist each syllable with his earnestness, doing his best to make Newt believe them. Whenever he added a finger, he focussed his attentions to Newt’s nipples, delighting in the way he seemed to melt each time and the tension leaked from his body as he arched and moaned against him.

Percival knew the exact moment that the pleasure overrode the uncomfortableness for Newt as he arched violently upwards into Percival’s probing fingers. He grinned triumphantly and crooked two of the digits upwards, rubbing in practised circular motions and angled them to hit the sweet spot again, the third tapping out a teasingly irregular rhythm. A long string of inarticulate noises escaped Newt’s lips, head thrown back and neck muscles straining as his eyes fluttered shut once more, his nails were digging into Percival’s back, leaving burning trails in their wake.

Knowing just what Newt was undergoing from long experience in this particular field, he had the foresight to ease off the stimulation and moved to grip the base of Newt’s erection with a firm grip to prevent him from coming. Quickly placing a spell to do the same when he removed his grip. It resulted in a strangled, desperate groan and confused, hazy sea-blue searching his face for explanation and Percival merely winked, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to Newt’s lips before guiding himself toward Newt’s suitably loosened hole, making sure to keep his eyes still fixed on Newt’s to gauge his reaction. He gasped, eyes screwing shut for a moment, causing Percival to pause, contemplating ways to make this easier for Newt before the Auror had an idea and withdrew, flipping them so that Newt was now straddling him and made sure to get Newt’s full attention by gripping his hips, grip light but gaze firm. “It’ll be better this way, you’re in control, Newt, do whatever you’re happy with and we can stop if it gets to be too much.”

There was a moment where Percival could have sworn, he saw tears shine in Newt’s eyes, a flash of something so mixed he couldn’t pin it before he nodded shakily and smiled down at Percival, lips barely brushing his as he leant forwards. “Thank you, Percival.” Then he manoeuvred himself so that Percival’s cock was once again pressing at his entrance and Percival quickly palmed some spit into his hand and attempted to make it easier in that moment before Newt slid down fully. Both gasped and Percival fought hard to not begin moving straight away, allowing Newt time to adjust as he kept his eyes scrunched closed for several moments, tense but slowly relaxing around him. Despite their preparations, Newt was unbearably tight and warm around him and Percival was consumed by guilt by a moment, thinking that he had moved too quickly before Newt’s eyes opened and he pulled himself upwards slightly before lowering back down again.

“Move… please move.” Newt’s voice was slightly choked, and Percival watched him carefully as he made a deliberately slow thrust upwards with his lips, hands still gripping Newt’s hips firmly to help angle in way that felt best for Newt. The young magizoologist released another moan, deep in his throat and with sweat lightly sticking his absurdly cute fringe to his forehead as he began to participate, moving faster as he rode him and all body language encouraging Percival to move with the pace. The Auror groaned and began thrusting up harder and faster until Newt’s grunts morphed into fully fledged cries, pupils blown wide, muscles tensed and deliciously flushed from fringe to toe. Newt’s cock was bobbing, magically restrained, red and almost painful looking in its hardness between them, Percival released one hand from Newt’s hips, relying a bit more on the Brit to continue the angling – knowing that it was often the person doing the riding that knew exactly what technique would work best for them. Percival began to stroke Newt’s length, lightly, teasingly thumbing the tip, smearing pre-come over it and rolling it back down his shaft, prompting a near howl from Newt and a hastening in the speed at which he was moving.

“Percival, please,” Percival tightened his grip a little, moving it faster in time with Newt’s pace “ _Bugger…”_  Percival smirked at the mild expletive that was released by the Brit – even now he could seem to swear properly, and Newt looked down at him pleadingly though with challenge still clear in the sea-blue depths, the flecks of green highlighted in the moonlight streaming through the partially opened curtain. “Fuck me.”   

That was what did it for Percival. Hearing the meek magizoologist curl the filthy request with his usually awkward British accent and making it sound like a damn prayer was too much. He withdrew hastily, knowing he wouldn’t last much longer like this and flipped Newt almost roughly onto his back again on the mattress, re-entering in such a swift, hard move that it had them both yelling. Newt’s eyes flew wide as Percival took control of the pace but seemed more than happy to allow the change in pace as his hands flew up to grasp Percival’s ass, pulling him further forward than Percival thought wise but, in that moment, he couldn’t care as his harsh rhythm stuttered and he found himself coming. Bliss wiped out all sense in his brain and he leant forward to sink his teeth deep into Newt’s neck, suckling hard at the skin a resulting in a strangled, moaning, gasping scream from the man beneath him. Newt clenched tight around him, Percival had just enough thought to release his spell and then Newt was coming too, the sticky release painting both of their stomachs. Percival levered himself backwards on shaking arms, withdrawing from Newt and falling to the bed beside him panting heavily, brushing his dishevelled dark hair from his eyes.

He pulled Newt over to roll him firmly into his arms, tightening the embrace around him as the lust haze and orgasm high faded slowly, leaving both suddenly feeling the cool air of the room much more than they had a few minutes ago. Newt looked to be in a complete haze, drifting off into his own head and eyelids heavy looking as they fluttered lazily. Percival felt almost as drained but had the advantage of untroubled sleeping patterns and long experience of having to attend to necessary activities after sex as he cleaned away their shared release with a wave of his hand. Newt shivered slightly at the tingling sensation left inside him from the spell, moaning lowly and curling tighter into Percival’s arms, he chuckled fondly under his breath and rubbed Newt’s back affectionally, gently pulling the covers over the two of them and relaxing into the warmth of both the threadbare quilt and Newt. He stroked a hand through Newt’s sweaty copper curls, feeling him hum as the younger man pressed his face into Percival’s neck, nose pressing against his collarbone and eyes slipping closed. “L’v you, Percy… j’st so’ya know.” The words were mumbled against his neck, breath tickling Percival’s skin and he smiled, pressing a kiss to Newt’s forehead gently as to not disturb him, murmuring back.

“I know Newt, go to sleep, love.”

 **A/N – I’m so, so, so sorry about the delays and… whatever the hell that was. I have had final course deadlines, drama and no sleep in four days so… yeah. Btw, shit’s about to hit the fan soon so… sorry again.**


	21. Chapter 21

**“I am your neighbour, I can see you, I got these blinds that I peek through and when you're crying, I see your tears fall down, they're making oceans that in I, sink and drown.**

**I feel I know you, I feel I know you well, I've seen you go through, I've seen you go through hell, I was there when you first let euphoria spill on your bed sheets, I could feel what you felt.**

**Do you feel used? Well I would too, I would too, and would you use me, like I did you?**

**I am your neighbour, I can hear you, I got this tin can with a string through and when you're crying, I hear your shaky breath and when you're lying, I hear your heart confess.” – ‘Neighbour’ – Mother Mother**

The last few sweet moments of hazy awareness before sleep claimed him were some of the best that Newt could remember but almost as soon as he slipped through the familiar barrier between one place and the next, that sweet haze was quickly tainted with fear. The night before had indeed been dreamless – he hadn’t been lying to Percival about that, but he had felt that familiar hum right at the very edge of his consciousness that told him that _something_ was happening. Newt had assumed it had been the interaction between Gellert and Albus that caused the uneasy feeling of impending doom _though it may well just be common sense telling you the same thing_ and had tried to ignore it, nonetheless. Percival returning so soon and so unexpectedly had been a welcome distraction and comfort to divert the young magizoologist from the lingering tensions that lay within his mind. Tending to his creatures and creating a new enclosure for Henry had been a useful diversion and it had only been the familiar and distinctive scent of Percival permeating through the usual creature smells that had alerted him to the Auror’s presence. For the first few moments, Newt had thought that he was imagining it and his tired mind had conjured the smell in some odd form of comfort, but he had then seen Henry’s posture tense, his large eyes shifting over behind Newt for a fraction of a second and he had smiled to himself.     

The subsequent events had been a veritable tidal wave of different sensations – desire being the predominant one – but there were others mixed in like ocean detritus that tainted the pleasure in little affecting ways. Awkwardness and unsurety of what he should do were certainly a major one, he had been terrified that he would do something wrong that would ruin it for both of them with his inexperience or through just the wrong memories being triggered inadvertently. There had been the constant underlying fear of the contact, of what it made him feel and remember but Newt had been relieved to discover that both with Percival’s care and with his own precautions he could focus drop away from his more cognizant thoughts and rely upon instinct alone. He had gone with the motions and words that he wanted in the moment - anything he had imagined in the past to happen between them, things he knew from personal experience felt good to do to himself.

It had been a bit awkward, and fumbling, but it had seemed to do the trick as Percival had seemed near frantic and animalistic at times; it had been exhilarating to see his partner lose control like that – because of something that _Newt_ had done. He had appreciated greatly the amount of restraint Percy was clearly putting into his actions to avoid reminding Newt of much less pleasant touches and the confusing, conflicting feelings that came with them. But he had also appreciated it a lot more when he had let go. Seeing and feeling Percival being able to let down his usually concrete guards further had been something Newt had wanted for a long time, he found an indescribable pleasure in seeing Percival as he truly was. There was something much more genuine and revealing about seeing the baser instincts of someone – seeing them in a way that they usually kept hidden.  

It had hurt. There was no denying that at first, despite all of Percival’s careful distractions, sweet words and experience it had still resulted in a burning, stretching sensation that had even someone as pain accustomed as Newt gasping and fighting hard not to tear up. There had been pleasure too and not only the kind that came when Percival eventually hit the sweet spot within him that had Newt seeing white and hazing out in pleasure. No, as bizarre and secretly shameful as it was to him, there had been some satisfaction in the fact that the pain was sharpening the experience for him. He wasn’t sure if it was due to some deeper guilt from all the mess that he had put Percival through and that he thought he somehow deserved it or if it was something else entirely _something that Gellert tried to tell you long ago._ It had thrown Newt into a further haze of confusion alongside the discomfort and pleasure, but he had found that in the time he was with Percival he didn’t care as much as he perhaps would’ve otherwise. Whenever he was Percival, despite how awkward or confusing it could sometimes be for the young magizoologist, he always felt a sense of rightness. The blunt honesty of Percival’s carnality had hammered it through that he honestly _did_ find Newt attractive and that he seemed to want him just as much as Newt did him.

The soft, panted flattering words that had liquefied his insides in that unique melted-honey way and had danced along his skin with every touch – harsher or caressing – had been enough to convince Newt of the genuineness of Percival’s affections for him. There had been a little part of him that feared Percival would no longer want to be with him when he discovered how inexperienced and broken Newt was, but something about the whispered words and genuineness of his actions made Newt believe him.

Try as he might to stay aware and tell Percival just how much the experience and Percival’s tender brutality had meant to him, the lack of sleep and the overwhelming exhaustion of their … _activities_ had consumed him. Falling asleep in Percival’s warm, bare-skinned embrace had been an immeasurable comfort, feeling the older man’s breath caressing the back of his neck and the strength that resided in the ropes of muscle that encircled his arms had lulled him further. The intimacy had helped to finally banish the last cognisant traces of Grindelwald’s impersonation; being able to know Percival’s behaviours and touch well enough to successfully differentiate between the two. That issue had been dissipating over a longer period of time of course, the more time he spent around both men gave him better judges of both so as to properly gauge the subtle differences even when showing similar emotions or behaviours. But experiencing sex like this… well it gave Newt the clarity to appreciate just how different they really were. Newt knew that Gellert often emulated a tone, smirk or posture similar to Percival and for a long while, there was a part of him that had been concerned that the similarities stemmed from an idea that they were more similar in some ways than he wanted to admit.   

But now, even as his clarity lightened the load that had been weighing upon him just that little bit, Newt knew that he had just entered a whole new level of peril and complications. He slipped through the ceiling of the cell as he usually might, if at an oddly sluggish seeming pace and was quick to retreat to his corner of the cell, hunching down and hiding as much of himself as he possibly could as he realised with suffocating horror that he was as naked here as he had been mere seconds before in his own bed. Ignoring the interior ache that flared up through his insides, spine and lower regions at the movements, he brought his knees up close to his chest, pressing them together tightly and wrapping his arms around them to hold them in place. As if it could protect him from the biting chill of the cell that seeped through the stone below him. Or the predatory gaze of the cell’s other occupant.

Gellert’s eyes were fixed close upon him, skating with expected interest but also with a surprising level of confliction tracing the mismatched pupils. He was stood as if caught in the midst of pacing and as Newt dared to return his probing gaze, though not meeting those traitorous eyes he noticed a smear of blood across one of Gellert’s hands. His attention only caught it for a second or so before Gellert clasped his hands behind his back, shaking his elaborate coat sleeve down over it. Newt couldn’t find it in himself to be too curious of it however as he realised just what sort of situation that he had carelessly put himself into. He should have had the forethought to try something, anything to avoid this sort of situation – at the very least staying awake long enough to put on some bloody clothes. Something so simple but that exhaustion had made slip his mind. Why couldn’t he live a life where he shouldn’t have to prepare for sleep as if preparing for a battle? Having to prepare himself for constant verbal sparring and even physical assault before he could even think about risking proper rest was not something that the human mind or body was suited for.  

Neither, however was being unspeakably bared and vulnerable – magically imprisoned with his worst nightmare after what had been one of the best nights in memory he had experienced. The injustice of the situation was not lost upon him as he shivered, hunched and afraid in his corner but the rising surge of long-since quelled memories began to rise once more. He had gone so long without such an attack that it came as double the shock now; it was astounding to him what the lack of something so simple could bring upon him at just the wrong time, but it also felt to be a culmination of a long-withheld reaction. Finally leaking out through the cracks inside him. Gellert didn’t even have to speak or touch him and yet he could feel the despair running and dripping through as if he were being physically torn apart. He could feel the usual begrudging apathy lingering just at the edges, requesting access to stem the tide but somehow Newt got the feeling that simply stoppering the flow as he had before would only lead to something much worse later. He could feel something else advising, guiding him gently to let the pressure leak out more slowly in a steady, continuous stream rather than penting it up until it blew him apart again as he had done before.         

He focussed hard to control his breathing, willing his hammering heart to slow its pace and though the violent shivers did not cease, he found that he was able to wrest better control over his fear. Newt focussed as he often did upon peaceful memories, finding that it was a mixture of his time with Percival – holding one another or something as simple as the way he stroked his thumb along the side of Newt’s hand to assure him – and thoughts of his creatures. Both focuses of interest helped to ground him and for once he could feel the hum of the whispering voice dying down when he requested it to. He was able to focus on righting himself and when he drew up enough resolve to open his smarting eyes again, he saw with some relief that Gellert was still stood at a distance from him, closer than before perhaps but not within arm’s length. Gellert was regarding him with an inscrutable expression, brows furrowed, lips thin and eyes dark but with an odd softness to them.

Newt was somewhat shocked though certainly relieved that the elder wizard had not yet spoken or made a move to touch him but then he noticed what he had missed before in his panic. There was an almost imperceptible shimmer in the air between them that Newt recognised as being a barrier spell; something that would prevent him from touching Newt it seemed. He got a sense that the magic was placed as a shaped barrier around Gellert and that it would prevent him from touching anything else living. Newt himself had placed similar wardings on creatures before to prevent them from hurting themselves or others, but he only did so in the most extreme of circumstances as he knew that most did not thrive under the influence of a wizard’s magic. He supposed that the specific limitations of the spell allowed Gellert to continue his movement around the cell and so that he could interact with the clothes, books and food (whenever or however that came) but he could not touch another living thing. Dumbledore had made good on his promise and though it seemed a simple solution, it was something that gave Newt a sense of relief, even if he was still being subjected to intense scrutiny from the dark wizard before him. He found himself releasing a very shaky, slightly hysterical huff of laughter under his breath and though he didn’t uncurl himself even slightly, he dared to meet the other’s eyes for the briefest of moments.          

Gellert tilted his head to one side at the contact, gaze softening further into to something that looked sad, apologetic - pitying even, and that set a twinge of new fear lancing up his already aching spine. He didn’t remember that look ever gracing Gellert’s face and it scared him to see such a thing now, that Gellert thought that he deserved pity after all that he had inflicted upon him with no such qualms. As the dark wizard continued to stare at him, Newt lowered his eyes in deference, unsure of what to do, he still felt incredibly vulnerable; like a rack of meat laid out for inspection. Even if Gellert couldn’t touch him and it seemed that the silencing spell had been replaced, he still felt as though the elder wizard was capable of violation beyond words or touch. He hoped that if he continued to ignore the other, if he didn’t provoke him, that he would be able to slip into sleep without enduring Gellert’s continued attentions. Grindelwald dashed those hopes by stepping forward further, a mere foot away now and sat, cross-legged as he had done many times before. His hands were clasped loosely in his lap instead of resting primly upon his knees as they usually would be. Now that he was closer, Newt could see that the blood and scrapes tracing his knuckles looked surprisingly familiar, a similar pattern to however Theseus’ hand looked after venting his anger on undeserving walls or furniture. It was bewildering to see evidence of such poor constraint of fury on Grindelwald, as he usually withheld his frustrations to verbosity or expression only, when not able to do so with magic. Seeing the self-destructive tendency from Grindelwald didn’t seem right at all.

Gellert noted his lingering, inquisitive stare on the mild wounds and flexed the hand almost experimentally, expression giving away no trace of discomfort but the movement causing the partially scabbed marks to crack open once again. Blood began to trace its way along his fingers and Gellert regarded it with idle fascination for a few moments before withdrawing a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed the staining crimson from his flesh. At first the ministrations merely smeared the blood and he sighed quietly, bringing the cloth up to his mouth, surprisingly pink tongue darting out to wet it before returning to his motions, this time with more success as he dabbed. His eyes were fixed upon the task all the while and Newt found a hint of solace in the relief from his intense stare for just a little while, though Newt’s own eyes remained fixed upon Gellert’s as he moved. He was superfluously wary of the other even in this state and he found that he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the shimmering play of light in Gellert’s pale eyelashes, filled with awful anticipation for the dreaded moment when those eyes would return to him. In this state of familiar vulnerability, he felt the need to be on even higher guard than usual around him, lest the wardings somehow fail if he should take even a second to look elsewhere.    

Eventually, Gellert’s eyes did return to him and though Newt found himself flinching back slightly further into the wall at the odd coldness that had overtaken the pity, he still found the detached anger easier to deal with. The empty stare grew more and more uncomfortable and Newt got the feeling that Gellert wanted him to broach a conversation as he could no longer initiate one for himself. There was a part of Newt that still hoped rather futilely that Gellert would grow bored and go off and read or sleep or whatever else it was he did in here, but that part was small, and his better sense told him that it wasn’t going to happen. Nevertheless, he found himself shaking his head slightly at Gellert and averting his gaze to his own arms where they wrapped his knees, pressing his head back against the stone and shivering before closing his eyes. Maybe he could ignore the other enough to find sleep on his own; he hadn’t managed it before but maybe Gellert would eventually take pity.

 _“Am I no longer considered worthy of your attention, Newton?”_  Newt started violently, eyes flying back open as the voice sounded in his head, feeling Gellert’s presence encroaching upon his own but in the more familiar form of Legilimency rather than through the bond. Gellert was regarding him with a mild expression though Newt was not fooled as he could sense the frustration rolling through the bond alongside an odd sort of pain drenching the mental connection. It wasn’t physical pain though, it was emotional – Gellert was upset about something and that in itself was enough to provoke a startled response from him.

“Was rather hoping to have some peace and quiet actually.”

Gellert laughed and the bitter humour rang along the bond with it in a disconcertingly contagious manner, but Newt fixed a neutral frown upon his face in its place. Gellert tilted his head again as though he were speaking the words that rang in Newt’s head. _“Yes, I would imagine after your little exploits you may be feeling a tad worn out.”_

Newt flushed dark in his cheeks and neck, narrowing his gaze to a glare at the confirmation of what he had already suspected Gellert knew. “I’m not really in the mood, Gellert.” The words were muttered sullenly from between his slightly chapped lips.   

A pale eyebrow was raised in that same bitter amusement _“In my own experience I have found that fornication usually put those involved in a better mood when done properly. I can only assume that Percival was as disappointing in person as he was from my own experience of your evening.”_

Newt pressed his eyes tight closed in mortification – he _really_ didn’t want to be discussing this, but it seemed that with Gellert inside his head he had little choice in engaging the man. “Not that’s its any of your business but I found it _quite_ enjoyable indeed. Did you perhaps consider the reason I don’t want to discuss it is because I don’t want to talk to you at all?”

_“But what’s the purpose in being so cagey about such things when you know just how invested in yourself and your besotted Auror I am? I have ventured the offer before but now that things seemed to be progressing so… well between you too, would you consider taking my advice on the matter?”_

Newt released a half-hysterical laugh at the suggestion and shook his head emphatically “Not a chance.”

_“Not even if I were to point out the rather apparent fact that you resent Percival for holding back on you? That you know he can’t and won’t treat you as a true equal because he believes you to be breakable, that even should you continue to stay together there will always be things that stand in the way? He is an Auror – the head of American security and has secrets enough under his belt that you will never understand what kind of a man he truly is? That he harbours tendencies closer to those I possess than you choose to admit to yourself? He kills, he maims, lies and manipulates for his own cause but has the audacity to pretend it isn’t so. Do you really think that should it come to a decision between harming people or your beloved creatures and protecting MACUSA that he would make the right choice? He see’s himself as a warrior of justice and men such as that are dangerous to be around; the ones who delude themselves and others into believing that they are heroes. Do you truly believe you are safe around such a man?”_

“And do you truly believe that you are any better? The words you use can be just as easily applied to you, Gellert. Just because you are open about your cruelty doesn’t make it any less abhorrent.” Newt replied; venom more potent than any beast’s lacing his tone at the blows to Percival’s character he was making - _ones that were striking a little too close to home in some places for your liking perhaps?_ Shut up.  

Gellert’s lips thinned and his brows furrowed further. _“You would rather be with a liar who plays at sincerity and morality rather than someone who tells you all that they are? I think not, Liebling.”_

“You don’t tell me everything either, Gellert, you tell enough of the truth so that it seems like honesty, but you keep plenty of secrets”

 _“And just what is it that you think I am keeping from you?”_ He could practically feel the twisted amusement dripping from his thoughts and his lips had curved into a mocking smirk.

“What you plan on doing to my friends, what you aim to achieve with this damned war, practically anything that isn’t your unwelcome interest in me!” Newt glared, limbs shuddering going unnoticed in his frustration fuelled by vulnerability and exhaustion. The pain of what should be a pleasant time for him being ruined by Grindelwald yet again. “Not to mention how in Merlin’s name you’re getting out your orders and how you think you’re going to escape from here.”

Gellert’s gaze was still amused but his smile was calculated, and his mind was cautious; limiting what Newt could access lest he push back with the connection. Knowing that both sensed the withdrawal, Newt gave him a sharp look; Gellert having just proved his point, the dark wizard’s lip curled further, and he inclined his head as if admitting Newt’s minor victory in that moment.

_“Touché, Newton, I will concede your point, but you are at least aware of the aims of my actions even if not the finer intricacies of the matters. Can you say the same of your dear Percy? Perhaps ask him what he has been doing when he returns to America or whatever happened to Scadrian and Liza after their imprisonment in Ministry custody?”_

“What?” Newt asked, bewildered at the mention of the two fanatics who had attacked him so many months ago, he had been under the impression that they had been arrested and sent to MACUSA and Azkaban accordingly; Gellert however, seemed to know otherwise. As much as he hated to play into the other’s games in this way, he couldn’t help his curiosity being piqued by the remark.  

Gellert’s smile was thin but his eyes softened into indiscernible darkness once more _“You would likely not trust the truth from my lips.”_ He smirked and inclined his head silently _“Or thoughts as it were.”_ He met Newt’s gaze full on with wide, deceptively open eyes. _“Ask your dear Director and let me know if he gives you an open answer.”_

Newt glared through his still slightly damp fringe at the elder wizard “I would have expected less obvious manipulation from you, Gellert, this is rather clumsy of you.”

Gellert’s expression didn’t falter for even a second _“It is no manipulation Newton, I merely wish for you to be aware of all the aspects of your options before you make a decision.”_     

“How very kind of you.” Newt bit sarcastically back and Gellert snorted slightly, looking genuinely amused, though his gaze swept over Newt’s naked form in the same instant with a familiar scrutiny that made Newt’s shuddering intensify. He rubbed his hands along his arms in a vain attempt to prevent the show of weakness, he missed the warmth and comfort of Percival’s arms now more than ever – wished more than anything to just be able to curl up in his lover’s embrace like a normal person might. It was a rare thing for Newt to wish that any aspect of his life was normal but right now it seemed so much simpler than what he was enduring.    

 _“I apologise for the injury to your head, it was… unnecessary.”_ Newt’s head snapped back up and he fixed the other with a wary stare, subconsciously reaching one hand up to lightly brace against his forehead. He couldn’t remember anything after Gellert delved into his mind with any clarity and what he could piece together seemed ridiculous – probably the result of a damaged, confused mind. Why on earth would Gellert sing to him? Even for a man seemingly intent upon uncomfortable amounts of intimacy it seemed odd – piecing together the images of Grindelwald the powerful, cold dark lord and Gellert the macabrely besotted prisoner who sang him to sleep… it just seemed wrong.  

“I thought you believed that everything you did was necessary.” 

_“Usually it is. You seem to have a tendency for provoking recklessness from me in a most irksome manner.”_   

“Good to hear I can be of some service.” Newt smirked very tiredly, lips barely moving but his sarcasm leaking through, nonetheless. He was disconcerted further when Gellert mirrored his expression with a cold, knowing element veining it strongly, eyes alighting over Newt again.

_“Oh, you have already done more for me than you can comprehend, Newton.”_

The young magizoologist shuddering intensified at the multiple implications of the words; was almost tempted to ask exactly what he meant but found himself dreading the response or irked by the likelihood that he wouldn’t receive a satisfying one. He averted his gaze back to his tightly wrapped arms, focussing on a line of swirling silver at random until it blurred out of his vision and everything began to haze. He could still see colours and vague outlines, but everything had a pleasantly unreal feel to it. It was easier to handle like this; he could almost pretend it was a dream, the kind that anyone else might have.

He heard a humming them, an ambling, rambling, familiar tune that caught his focus though he forced himself not to raise his gaze and realised that perhaps he hadn’t been imagining quite as much as he thought. Not being able to produce any sound physically, the tune reverberated through his mind even as he tried to push it away irritably, it was no doubt an attempt to make him let his guard down and in his currently bare state that was the last thing he wanted to do. He could go one more night without sleep and find rest at another time when he was in a less vulnerable state – preferably wrapped in layer upon layer of the _thickest_ clothing he owned. Right now, he resigned himself to having to put up with the company until such a time that Gellert allowed him to wake, which would hopefully be sooner rather than later.

_“Are you really more comfortable resting in the arms of a liar and murderer who plays at decency than you are merely being in my presence?”_

“Apparently so.” Newt mumbled in response, not looking up and feeling Gellert sigh into the air between them.

 _“You didn’t seem to mind all that much the last time.”_ He murmured, a bitter, fond edge to his thoughts and Newt shot a brief glare.

“Concussions will do that.”  

Gellert sighed again and Newt felt him shift upon the stone floor in front of him, in the movement that one of his boots briefly brushed against Newt’s toes there was a spark that resulted in a stunted cry from Gellert and a flurry of sparks that sent him sprawling back. Newt’s half-closed eyes flew open to see him on his side a few feet away, looking mildly bemused and impressed in an odd way, he pushed himself back up to a sitting position with a huff of breath, meeting Newt’s startled expression with a thin, mildly pained smile.

 _“Albus’ measures are a little more stringent than I had anticipated it seems.”_     

“Looks like it.” Newt replied tonelessly, resisting the stupid urge he felt to ask whether the other was alright, he supposed it was just polite instinct and brushed it off without further thought.

 _“I would have thought that these were enough of a restriction.”_ Gellert commented lightly, tugging back his sleeves a bit to reveal twin metal bands encircling his wrists, carved with symbols and glowing in a subtle, intricate shimmer of magic. Newt was no expert, but he imagined that they formed part of the wardings that prevented Gellert from using his magic and winced inwardly at the thought of being cut off from what formed such an integral part of a wizard. Not that he pitied Gellert’s situation of course, but it still brought him no satisfaction to see another creature of magic bound in such a way. If Gellert was trying to provoke a conversation from him again or pity – he was going to be sorely disappointed, though it didn’t seem to be affecting how much he like talking.

 _“It seems that your relationship with Percival has become newsworthy with your recent successes in the literary field. Congratulations on that by the way, it must have slipped my mind what with all the other… plentiful distractions.”_ There was a dangerous edge to the last part and Newt continued to focus on ignoring him, jaw clenching lightly, and eyes fixed on the same silver line. _“I should also commend you on expelling the Lestrange girl from your life, she was only going to cause you pain, your brother too no doubt.”_ Newt risked a glance to see Gellert’s face seemed sincere enough and he couldn’t even find himself surprised at he extent of the knowledge he had anymore – he was clearly dredging up the depths of topics with which to prompt a conversation.

He sighed and relented “Leta didn’t mean any harm, she’s just trying to protect herself, her family aren’t going to support her if she marries into the wrong sort of bloodline, they were unhappy enough with her friendship with me let alone her engagement to Theseus. It’s good that she is moving on, I just… wish that I could’ve helped her do so.”

_“I must admit I respect her seeing the true value of her blood, though I see no reason for her to denounce your family’s lineage – it is pure enough in its magical roots after all.”_

Newt’s lip curled in distaste for the discussion of blood, as if that sort of thing actually had any value to individuals of a reasonable disposition. “Their problem wasn’t with the bloodline but more to do with my father, bad reputation and all that…” Newt trailed off with a feeling akin to being kicked in the gut by an Erumpent at the train of thought it led him onto, forcibly pushing back at the customary nausea that accompanied thinking of his father – especially in such close proximity to Grindelwald.  

Gellert seemed unphased of course and inclined his head nonchalantly in recognition of Newt’s point _“Quite rightly so I would imagine - he was a drunken, disgraced, abusive cur after all.”_

While Newt wasn’t inclined to disagree with the comment, he didn’t respond, merely ducked his head and tucked his legs in closer towards his body a bit. Just because Grindelwald may be right in his judgement, it didn’t make his actions any less deplorable and bringing up such appalling occurrences as the circumstances of his death and what he forced Newt to do… it didn’t exactly make Newt feel inclined to continue the conversation. In a vague search for something to distract himself from the disturbing train of thought, Newt cast his gaze to look back at Gellert’s exposed forearms, realising with a distant curiosity that for all the exposure he had to Grindelwald, this was the first time he had seen him in anything less than full, smart dress.

He noted absently that the skin of his arms was just as pale as that of his face and hands, looking bleached and colourless under a dusting of white-blonde hair, in fact, aside from the silver of the bands on his wrists, the only trace of colour was a dark stain of ink marring the inside of the right wrist. The design was partially blocked by the band and the angle at which Grindelwald held his hands, but Newt still recognised the form of a crow on one side with the distinctive appearance of a Phoenix upon the other. The two birds’ heads sprouting from a body that shared the primary feather spread of the Phoenix form, the heads were facing away from one another. Newt could only wonder at the meaning or purpose of the tattoo. A foolish whim of his youth perhaps? A working of magic into his flesh? Some deeper personal meaning? He daren’t ask and so averted his gaze back to fix on his knees once more.       

 _“I can see that you are going to continue your stubbornness for the time being.”_ Gellert sighed after an extended period of silence between them and Newt offered him a pointed, slightly hopeful stare in return. Gellert’s expression was tight with disenchantment but he seemed ready to relent and while Newt knew that nothing came easy with Grindelwald, he felt a tendril of hope curl through him.

“Does this mean you’re going to leave me alone now?”

Gellert huffed a sound that could have been a laugh into the mental space connecting them and stood, looking down at Newt with what looked like dissatisfaction. “ _You’re really so eager to return to the arms of your fraudulent Auror aren’t you?”_

Newt didn’t dignify the petty name-calling with a response but inclined his head slightly, in that moment choosing to project a little - just a hint - of his affection for Percival towards Gellert. Enough so that he was left in no uncertain terms of his belief in Percival. The dark wizard’s expression grew brittle in its forced calm but in the moments before Newt withdrew the sensation, he felt pain, anger and betrayal swirling potently beneath the surface of the other. It was alarming to sense such genuine seeming emotion from him – something even comparable to what he might expect from Percival were the situations reversed. He felt almost guilty in that instance, his expression faltering as he regarded the elder.

 _“Think on your options, Newt.”_   

With a jolt and a sickening stomach flip Newt found himself back in his own bed. The sheets were rumpled and considerably warmer than the air he had been surrounded by mere seconds before. Newt jolted upright, drawing the blanket over himself quickly and glancing around in disorientation at the abrupt return, he noted with some apprehension but not entirely with surprise, that the bed beside him was empty. As he looked over to the window however he saw Percival stood there in the pale dawn light that came through the partially opened curtain, he was wearing his trousers loosely fastened around his waist but no shirt. His face was graced with a faraway, troubled expression and his hands were buried within his pockets, bare shoulders tense and shining pale and strong in contrast to the orange streaked beams of sunrise.

“Percy?” He turned, looking relieved and offered Newt a brief, pained smile.

“Ah, you’re back.”

Newt fumbled the sheets in his hands nervously, feeling as if there was something lingering in the space between them and that it was somehow his fault. “Yes, I’m sorry about that, I-”

“There’s no need to apologise, Newt, I know this isn’t your fault.” His brow creased together further as he regarded Newt, warm-whiskey eyes darkened by tiredness, concern and something underlying that the magizoologist couldn’t quite put his finger on. “I’m just glad you’re alright… You are, aren’t you?” The last sounded worryingly like a plea and Newt shifted his legs over the edge of the bed to face Percival fully, keeping the blanket hugged awkwardly round his waist as he did so. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Dumbledore’s new defences seem to be working pretty well; he can’t touch me anymore and he can’t speak.” Newt didn’t bother to mention that it hadn’t stopped communication between them entirely, he saw no sense in putting further strain on Percival when he already looked so worn. “Just the usual one-sided dark lord level staring contest.” He tried to joke but sensed it fell flat as a muscle in Percival’s jaw jumped slightly and his strained attempt at a reassuring smile slipped away.

Percival released a long breath then and came to sit on the bed beside Newt “You would tell me if there was something wrong wouldn’t you, Newt?”

“Of course.” Newt replied, brows furrowed and unsure of where the question where was coming from and Percival’s own brows raised at the unsteady note in the response.

“I’m sorry if I seem untrusting, I’m just finding it difficult to accept the fact that the man I love disappeared from my arms and was taken away to some Lewis-forsaken cell and a sadistic, deluded megalomaniac.”

“I can understand why that might be a little upsetting.” Newt tried for humour again, attempting to regain the enjoyable, warm pleasure-haze they had fallen into earlier but at the same time knowing it was a futile effort. Percival sighed again, rubbing a hand over his face, scrubbing at his eyes in a fierce motion. “Sorry, I wish just as much as you do that I had control over this and as bad as it may sound… I’ve found a sort of… middle-ground with it.” He paused, tilting his head and fumbling the sheets in his lap whilst trying to articulate the situation properly. “I damn well don’t like it, but I know that for now at least, there isn’t anything I can do about it. The way I see it, I could spend all my time worrying about it and wallow in misery or I could just get on with my life as best I can. That’s not really such a bad thing… is it?” The last part slipped out as a weak voiced query; truly unsure of whether he was in the right state of mind with the situation or if it was some sort of apathy that was being magically worked upon him. But no matter the circumstances, he felt that taking his own advice and not creating unneeded suffering by worrying was the best way to approach the things he couldn’t change.

Percival regarded him oddly before pulling him in for a swift, soft kiss and brushing a thumb across Newt’s cheek in a particularly tender motion that had Newt looking at him questioningly – not minding at all but still curious. “No, Newt, there’s nothing wrong with that at all, I just thought that… with your current state you might be trying to hide… a deeper hurt than you were letting on.”     

“No, no, no, nothing like that… not that he probably wouldn’t try if he had the opportunity but… no.” He trailed off at the furious look on Percival’s face and quickly ran a comforting hand along the other’s arm. “He can’t touch me. I told you. He barely nudged my toe at one point and was thrown across the room. I’m safe as I can be, Percival, I promise.”          

The Auror only looked mildly appeased but a little of the tension and anger drained from him and Newt felt the coiled muscles under his hand loosen. Percival rubbed a hand over his face again and pulled Newt closer for another kiss, this one equally as sweet and un-intrusive but enough to settle Newt’s jangling nerves and melt him slightly into the contact. He only pulled back when his muscles and bones began to flare in protest at the awkward angling and he leant back with a slight grimace, hand going to rub a little at his lower back and hover awkwardly over the area that was actually causing him trouble. Percival frowned when he noticed the source of the discomfort and placed his hand over Newt’s helping to rub smooth, soothing circles in the dip just at the base of his spine. Newt smiled softly at the gesture.

“I’m sorry, was I too rough? I wasn’t sure how it would be for-”

Newt was quick to cut off the apologies and muttered “No, you were-… it was… _fantastic_.” He flushed slightly pink at the admittance and saw Percival’s lips curve into what could only be described as a smirk. “It was probably more to do with the cold stone floor than you.”

“I’ll be sure to wrap you in a dozen or more layers next time.” Percival teased and Newt couldn’t help but smile at the mirroring of his earlier thoughts, even if he felt a slight shudder of anticipation at the possibility of another night like this. Both in eagerness of building further with Percival and the dread that came with thinking of Gellert’s unwanted involvement in the aftermath.

“I- was it-…o-okay for you? I mean I don’t r-rreally-” Percival cut him off with an enthusiastic kiss that had Newt’s insides melting again and left him breathless moments after it had broken off.

“Sweetheart, don’t doubt yourself.” He chuckled lowly under his breath in a heady, warm way that had Newt shuddering a little more than just from the light chill in the air of his room. “You weren’t lying when you said you were a fast learner. I would have enjoyed a night with you regardless of your experience, love. However, if there is anything you wish to try in future or anything you are averse to, just let me know and I’m sure we’ll find some way of accommodating.” The wink he shot Newt did unfair things to his suddenly hazy mind and he found himself flushing crimson again even as he nodded eagerly. He got the feeling that Percival was beginning to employ the signature Graves charm that he had heard Queenie and Tina mention jokingly in past when they were trying to tease him and Percival after a few drinks. It oddly enough didn’t bother him to think that such tactics and charms had been used on numerous people before him as it was just a reflection of the mature charisma and sinful attractiveness that resided within Percival.  

Before he could venture whatever inarticulate or comparatively lame response his starstruck brain could come up with, Percival planted another kiss on his lips and drew Newt up to his feet. Newt let out a light yelp both at the shock of aches and twinges that shot through his lower regions and as the blanket dropped from his waist, leaving him standing naked on slightly bowed legs. He wasn’t necessarily insecure by any means – never really thought about his physique in comparison to others but the lingering traces of scars that had more particular meaning than errant scratches or burns from beasts made him feel a little self-conscious. Not to mention that he doubted any man would not feel inferior standing next to someone as physically imposing as Percival – all firmly built muscle, a very slight tone to the skin and a smattering of dark chest hair that trailed down enticingly in a ‘v’ shape to where his trousers rode low on his strong hips. Newt had to forcibly tear his gaze away from where he was shamefully ogling his partner and looked to meet Percival’s stupidly self-assured grin and warm-whiskey eyes.

“A bath will help with those aches, trust me.” Percival spoke briskly and Newt snapped himself out of a trance-like state as the American took him by the hand and drew him down the corridor to the bathroom. He waved his hand at the tap to fill the bathtub and though the old pipes shuddered and creaked as they often did, they relented and began to spew forth hot water. “Do you still have any of that Bruisewort balm left?” He asked, referring to the salve that Newt had taken to applying on himself, his creatures and occasionally on Percival or Bunty whenever they inevitably got minor injuries from assisting him. Newt nodded and raised his hand, incanting the summoning charm so as to avoid going down into the cellar in his sore, sleepy and naked state. A few moments later there was a slight crash downstairs from in the kitchen and Newt cursed as realised that the flying balm had probably knocked something over on its way up. “Bugger, need to work on trajectory.”     

Percival chuckled as the balm shot through the door to Newt’s hand though raised an impressed brow “Been working on your wandless magic I see?”

“S’pose so, felt like something I should get the knack of.” Newt replied, leaning over awkwardly to turn off the tap before the bath overflowed and hesitated for only a moment before sinking into the water. He let out a hiss as the too-hot water seared at his tender flesh and the light bruises that dotted his hips, neck and wrists but once again found that the sensation helped numb him out a little nicely.  He looked up a little awkwardly at Percival who was regarding him oddly before he waved his hand at one of the taps and a jet of cold water suddenly spayed into the bath, sending a shock of sensation akin to burning up his feet. The young magizoologist yelped and drew his feet back up towards himself, turning his head up to glare at Percival’s smirking mug before seeing that he had stripped off his trousers and a moment later Newt could only yelp again when he stepped right into the bathtub with him.

He was barely aware of the tap turning off or the more reasonable temperature of the bath before Percival was half-straddling him, leaning forwards to press his lips insistently to Newt’s. He muffled a squeak of surprise and found himself giggling slightly into the kiss before finally returning it, pulling Percival on top of him more thoroughly and weaving his hands around the others neck. Percival’s hands tangled in his wet hair and Newt found that the aches in him dissipated as they drew closer together, the warm water and mind-numbing intimacy blowing it away. Even so, he didn’t begrudge it when one of Percival’s hands disappeared momentarily before returning with the balm that had been resting on the bath edge, he withdrew from the kiss and began rubbing it slowly, sensuously over Newt’s neck, dipping below the water to massage his shoulders and lower-back before dipping further down to rub even lower. Sparks lanced through Newt’s skin from the points of contact and Newt found himself arching into Percival, forcing the Auror to readjust on him with a chuckle and causing water to slop over the sides of the bath.

“Percival!” He near-squeaked into the next kiss as the man in question’s deft fingers traced between his legs, not really complaining but still overtaken by the sudden turn of events. Newt found himself mouthing his half-hearted complaints into Percival’s shoulder as his eyes fluttered shut, the American’s mouth sucking new livid marks upon the skin of his throat high above the others and into his jawline. The hand in his hair was tugging rougher than it had before but Newt had the feeling it was more due to Percival’s propping elbow slipping on the bath edge as they slipped deeper into the water. So preoccupied were they that neither noticed the knocking at the door downstairs and it was only the much closer sound of footsteps ascending the stairs that gave them any warning before an irritatingly familiar voice called out. “Newt, you lazy git, out of bed now! Tina was under the impression you were dropping by Queenie’s for breakfast before you went to see Credence. Get a move on.”   

 Percival cursed colourfully under his breath and summoned a towel to his hand, quickly standing and wrapping it around his waist before helping Newt up out of his flushed and incredibly awkward sprawled position in the water. There were a few awkwardly loud squeaks of his feet and hands on the worn porcelain tub and Newt cast about hastily for another towel, spotting only the one he had used earlier to clean up one of the Nifflers who had decided to go digging through another enclosure and got covered in excessive amounts of Graphorn urine. He grimaced but cast a hasty _Scourgify_ on it before wrapping it around himself, it was just in time as he heard steps directly outside the bathroom door and there was an impatient rapping on the wood. “Hurry up would you, Newt, I promised I’d check in on you before I headed to work but I haven’t got all day.”

“Worse than when we were children.” Newt mouthed and threw Percival an exasperated, apologetic look before stepping out into the corridor to come nearly nose to nose with a startled Theseus. He flushed red at his own half-undressed state, hair plastered to his head but tried to school his expression into a less damning or mortified one. “Sorry, forgot about the time, just needed a bath, you know what I’m like, careless me, always getting messed up!” His falsely bright tone and incredibly awkward words prompted a snort from the bathroom, and he covered it up hastily by coughing loudly, offering Theseus an apologetic, sheepish smile and edging along the corridor to his room.

His brother was regarding him as if he’d lost his mind and Newt had to fight hard to repress nervous, embarrassed laughter as he backed into his room “I’ll be ready in just a bit, wouldn’t mind putting the kettle on, would you? Thanks.” He ducked into his room, practically slamming the door in Theseus’ bewildered and irritated face before hastening to get dressed. Thankfully the massive awkwardness of the situation had abated the more _physical_ signs of what he and Percival had been doing before the untimely interruption and he cursed himself for forgetting time so badly that he hadn’t realised it was the day when he was supposed to be overseeing Credence’s second lesson. Time seemed to blur together recently, and he could only hope that Theseus took his suggestion and went downstairs and didn’t discover Percival naked in his bathroom. The awkwardness of Newt’s fumbling excuses had been bad enough already without that being added on top of it.

He was just tugging on his waistcoat when he heard a pop of apparition that had him turning to see an exasperated looking Percival standing there, clutching a towel over a distinctive bulge, trousers fisted in his other hand. His dark hair was too plastered to his face, disarrayed from its usual careful style and dripping, his face quite flushed. Newt found himself releasing a laugh, trying to stifle it both for the sake of propriety and not annoying Percival any further. He sighed irritably and grabbed up his shirt, releasing the towel much to Newt’s distraction as he too dressed hastily, though he did so with perhaps more success than Newt – spelling the creases from the clothes as straightening them accordingly. When he was finished, he stepped forward with a tired smirk and did up Newt’s tie where his hands had been hovering in his preoccupation, he tied it quickly and pressed a hasty kiss to Newt’s lips before nodding towards the door. “Shall we?”

“Um, I think Theseus is still downstairs and I don’t really want to start a fight this early in the morning if that’s alright with you.”

Percival raised a brow sceptically, challengingly but not without humour “Is there some sort of ward that’s been placed on your virginity that I was unaware of?”

Newt flushed bright red and shook his head bemusedly, muttering “No, no, of course not.”

“Then why should your brother suspect anything of us other than what has been occurring for months beforehand. I’ve been sleeping over at your place for a while now, its only your ridiculously adorable fumblings that has anyone suspecting otherwise.” He pressed his hands onto Newt’s shoulders in a deliberately bracing gesture, gazing at him warmly, calmly, until Newt sighed and nodded; realising that he was probably right.

“Sorry, haven’t really done any of this ‘being caught in incredibly awkward erotic situations’ thing before, forgive me if I’m a little rusty on it.” He grumbled

Percival chuckled heartily at that and winked “Well, I’ve had enough experience for both of us I would imagine and there’s nothing to be ashamed of, Newt.” 

“I’m not ashamed - not of you at any rate, its more just because its Theseus. He knows more about the etiquette of these sorts of things than I do. Probably able to tell straight away from the way I was babbling.”

“Maybe but Theseus isn’t as much of a ladies’ man as he pretends – just gets away with being a smug ass. He’s got to accept that he can’t control everything around him as much as he may want to.”      

“You don’t need to tell me _that.”_ Newt muttered but relented as he opened his door and descended the stairs, greeted by the pungent aroma of coffee alighting the air, noting Theseus standing, briefcase on the table and tired frown fixed upon his face by the stove.

“Sorry bout that, you can probably head off to work now if you want.”

“Nonsense, Newt, I think I can stop just long enough for some coffee and ask just what the hell you are doing, Graves.” He turned, face tight with irritation and arms folded across his chest in what Newt recognised with dread as Theseus’ patented ‘I’m not budging till I get what I want’ stance.  Newt blanched but tried his best to offer Theseus a puzzled look, opening his mouth to offer an explanation that he hadn’t really thought through yet when his brother continued. “Did you think my department wouldn’t hear of it when you arrested two British citizens and placed them under MACUSA custody?”

Both men looked at one another in a slow confusion for a few moments, Percival recovering quicker than Newt of course and replying in a smooth, business-like tone. “They were slaughtering No-Majs on American soil and are part of the ongoing case against Rosier, what did you expect us to do with them, Scamander?”

“Turn them over to our custody perhaps as the international edict would dictate?” Theseus scowled, waving a hand at the whistling kettle behind him so that it floated over to fill two mugs, spoons soon following to stir in coffee granules. “It’s not like you aren’t in a position to be travelling between here and America anyway, you may as well put your established journey route to use.”

“Very well, we had already got all we had expected to from Crowley and Finch anyway. I’ll send word to have them transported this afternoon.”

“Much obliged.” Theseus replied sardonically, tipping his mug slightly in Percival’s direction before sipping, grimacing mildly at the bitter flavour, glancing over to Newt. “Haven’t got any milk, have you?”

Newt shrugged apologetically, still slightly pink in the cheeks “None that’s safe to drink, no.”

“Dare I ask?” Percival commented, raising a brow and taking the other coffee mug, knowing that Newt wasn’t a fan of it so supposing it had been meant for him. An odd courtesy from Theseus it seemed.

“Most of it is for the Leucrotta young and believe me, you don’t want to put that in your drink.”   

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Percival and Theseus drank their coffee in a tense silence, eying one another with suspiciously mild distaste whilst Newt glanced at the clock, realising he probably had just enough time to do his rounds before leaving to attend Credence’s lesson. He nodded briefly to both before heading downstairs, in the hallway, he almost bumped into Bunty who had just come through the front door. “Oh, morning, Newt!”

“Good morning.” Newt replied shortly, hastening down the stairs as she fumbled her coat and umbrella off onto the coatrack in the hallway. He made his usual path around the cellar in record time, aided greatly by the use of a few routine spells and Bunty picking up stray jobs behind him. Having successfully made up a number of enclosures for the creatures that usually resided in his case in the cellar, his portable Magizoo currently resided in the nearby shed with only the more permanent residents still residing inside. Dougal, for instance, had refused to make himself visible for long enough to be moved and as he caused no trouble and acted mostly independently, Newt was content to let him be. In the spare time he had had since his return from New York so long ago, he had deconstructed Frank’s habitat with some heaviness to his heart and a pang of fondness that made him miss the Thunderbird all the more. The case and cellar both taken care of, Newt snagged a little-too-stale rock cake that he had been planning to feed to the Augurey. Queenie and Jacob had made a habit of passing over any stale or burnt leftovers to Newt for his creatures and while most of them got to the intended source, he found that he often sated his hunger with them when he thought about it.

When he arrived back upstairs about a half-hour later, he did so to a flurry of spellfire tearing apart the insides of his kitchen. He stopped dead by the doorway, taking in the simultaneously exasperating and somewhat amusing sight of Theseus sending multiple hexes at a shield surrounding Percival as the American Auror stood leaning up against the countertop by the sink, sipping his coffee with one hand whilst the other maintained the shield with mere disinterested flicks of his wand. Newt was stuck between anger at his brother, exasperation at Percival’s smug, casual stance that was clearly designed to provoke Theseus further and begrudging amusement at the ridiculousness of the scene.  

“Theseus, could you refrain from demolishing my kitchen any further if you please?” Newt called calmly across the room and Theseus paused in his spellfire to face Newt, face flushed, and jaw clenched. Percival took the opportunity to lower his shield, placing his now empty mug down on the side and waving a wand at the minor destruction of the kitchen; charming shattered crockery back together and setting the furniture to rights. Newt fixed his brother with a strictly disapproving stare, moving in to help with the reparations, he was puzzled at first until he noticed that lying amongst the rubble of smashed pottery were his trousers, shirt, belt and boots from the night before. Alongside Percival's shirt.  _Ah. That might explain it._

Whilst Newt felt utterly mortified as he scooped the errant garments up and charmed them to return upstairs to his room, he was also feeling relieved that neither had been hurt in the rather one-sided duel. He glared, red-faced with embarrassment over at Theseus and heard himself asking in a strained tone. “What in the name of Paracelsus was that about?”

“Just allowing your brother to relieve a little of the tension that has been making him even more insufferable than usual.” Percival replied smoothly and while Theseus fixed the other Auror with an indignant glare he nodded, nonetheless. Newt rather felt like he was missing something here but decided that now was probably not the time to raise such questions as he didn’t want to be late for this session. Having missed the last one, he felt rather eager not to let Credence or Dumbledore down again after the younger wizard had seemed so eager for Newt to be there. He hoped it was a sign that the Obscurial was gaining confidence in himself or in Newt and intended to help Credence as much as he could to make up for his past failings on the younger’s behalf.

He fixed both Aurors in his kitchen with a calculating look for a matter of long moments before shaking his head and muttering “I’m off but I’d appreciate it if you refrained from any more ‘stress-relief’ duels inside my house if that’s at all possible.”

“I should hope so, I need to return to MACUSA anyway, I’ll see you this evening.” Percival replied briskly, leaning over to briefly plant a kiss on Newt’s lips before retreating to the living room. There was a whoosh of the Floo and a flash of green firelight from the next room and Newt knew he was gone, feeling a pang of annoyance and despondence at their time together being interrupted yet again.   

Newt fixed his brother with another questioning, tired look “You don’t have to behave like this you know.”

Theseus shrugged, moving to collect his case from the table as he replied “It’s just as Graves said. Just clearing the air and making a few things clear in the process.”

"Really.” Newt’s eyebrows rose impressively high “Cause it seemed to me like you were being your usual overprotective idiot self. I’ve told you a hundred times, Thee, I don’t need you attacking every person you think has done me wrong. I appreciate you taking the wards off my house and it’s certainly a step in the right direction but neither Percy nor Albus deserve you attacking them whenever you lose your temper.”

“Someone has to keep an eye on you, Newt, and seeing as you don’t have any sense of what’s good for you, it may as well be me that makes sure the people around you know that there are boundaries.”

“It’s not up to you to decide what those boundaries are; it isn’t anyone’s decision but my own.” Newt said, exasperation lacing his tone heavily; feeling like he had had this argument more times than he could count by this point. “Besides, I think that both Albus and Percy are aware of your sense of ‘boundaries’ by this point – two punches to the face and being attacked in my kitchen probably did the trick for both of them.”

Theseus’ brows rose and he looked minorly smug for a moment, though quizzical as he asked, “Twice you say?”

Newt sighed irritably but cracked a small smile at the stupid similarity between the two Aurors’ actions. “Yes, twice, Percival clocked him one too and I still expect apologies from both of you at some point.”

“Not bloody likely.” Theseus muttered but looked oddly, begrudgingly impressed at the news, he shook his head slightly as if to rouse himself, heading for the door too, Newt followed, briefly ensuring that his case was safely still warded and sending it down back into the cellar. The brothers stood on the doorstep beside one another as Newt fumbled the door shut and locked it before turning back to the elder. “Do be careful today, would you?” It sounded more like a plea than and order despite Theseus’ petulant tone and he nodded briefly.  

“You too.”

Theseus smirked “Always am.” And then disappeared, Newt shook his head before apparating too.


	22. Chapter 22

**“So, you've taken it all from me, will you sell me back my world and leave me be? Strange, this is where we are, you have taught me how to live under the scars.**

**I bet you thought that I would lose my reflection in the sea you let me drown, but I can swim without you now.**

**...Wait, before you crawl to me, don't forget the memories were bittersweet, now, now that I've let you go, I can kill the ghost of you inside my head.** **” – ‘Bad got me Good’ – Gin Wigmore**

Tina greeted him at the door of the cottage in which Credence was being housed – or imprisoned depending which way you looked at it – and though she seemed tired there was a smile on her slightly rounder than usual face. “Glad you could make it, Newt.” Her smile was a bit nervous, but she seemed genuinely pleased to see him, it had been a while since they had had the opportunity to speak one on one. He nodded a little distractedly and followed her into the living room, the door to Credence’s room still shut and the living space looking much more ordered than the last time he had seen it, though there were a few magic books strewn across the carpet by the empty fire grate. It looked as though Tina had been getting the young American started on basics if the titles were anything to go by and Newt was gratified to see that the pages were a tad dogeared and looked to be recently well-thumbed.

“How’ve you been?” Newt asked in leu of the slightly awkward silence that had permeated the room, Tina’s gaze repeatedly flicking over to the closed door even as she tried to fix her wavering attention on Newt too.

“Oh fine, fine, just busy is all, bit under the weather but nothing a little pepper up potion hasn’t been able to fix.” Newt nodded and noticed that she did indeed look a bit pale, dark circles rimming her salamander-like eyes despite the slightly heavier set to her frame. He supposed it was all her MACUSA work combined with having a baker for a brother-in-law, he knew well enough how insistent Queenie and Jacob could be on sampling baked goods.

Thinking back to his conversation with Gellert the night before, Newt ventured forth a question in as unobtrusive a manner as he could muster. “Had any luck with the Grindelwald supporters you arrested yet?”

Tina looked distracted but shrugged, pulling a face “Some, its been difficult sorting out the fanatics who actually know anything useful and people who are just troublemakers. I’m sure Mr Graves told you that we caught Vinda Rosier finally – cagey one that one is and not at all afraid of using excessive violence on No-Majs or wizards alike.”

“Right.” Newt murmured, processing the information but not really knowing how to feel about it; neither Percival nor Theseus had mentioned it, but he wasn’t particularly surprised as both had been rather distracted lately. It did bring him some modicum of comfort to think that the witch who apparently held such a close position to Grindelwald was in custody, but he got the feeling that it probably wasn’t as ideal a situation as it sounded. Hoping to take advantage of Tina’s distracted nature a bit further, he risked a more direct line of conversation, cautious of alerting her to his intentions in case there was some agreement between his Auror friends that he shouldn’t be made aware of some things. “What about the ones you arrested in February? Percival mentioned a while ago that they had trouble getting any answers.”

Tina’s head snapped up at that and her gaze grew guarded “Did he now?”

Newt shifted a little uncomfortably and shrugged noncommittally “Maybe I remembered wrong, it was a while ago now. Was just curious.”

Her expression softened slightly after she eyed him suspiciously for a few moments and she shook her head “No such luck I’m afraid. Haven’t heard anything on them in a while. I’ve been busy with arguing Credence’s case, my usual Auror duties and acting as an emissary between here and New York. It’s all been a bit crazy to be honest.”          

Sensing that he should drop the topic lest he raise further suspicion, Newt nodded along in what he hoped to come off as an understanding way. He genuinely did feel bad for Tina’s obvious exhaustion but recent events and the generally evasive tone from his Auror friends concerning anything to do with Grindelwald had begun to grate on his nerves and with the dark wizard’s insinuations it only made it worse. Credence chose that moment to emerge from his bedroom, looking apprehensive but also more comfortable than Newt could remember seeing him.

It seemed that Tina had taken the liberty of buying him new clothes that Newt must have blanked on noticing in his last visit – a dark red brocade waistcoat, smart but practical dark trousers and a plain pale lilac shirt. If Newt didn’t know any better, he might’ve sworn that Dumbledore had had a hand in choosing the clothing for him but nonetheless, the Obscurial didn’t seem uncomfortable in the slightly garish colours; they suited him well. It was almost as if the brighter shades and lack of monochrome helped to lift the personality that had been lying dormant within the younger man for so long; not one that was eccentric exactly but certainly not quite as subdued as that of the abused Second Salem boy he had once been. It seemed that Tina’s care and the lack of abusive, repressive elders in his life had had a good effect on him, as had the chance for a proper education – a hope for a better life in which he might be included with others of his kind. 

“Oh, good morning, Credence, how’re you feeling?” Tina asked, turning to face the younger American who ducked his head only slightly before nodding mutely, offering what could have been called a weak smile. Newt stepped forward too, not crowding him but keen to show the younger man that he wasn’t afraid of him; he knew from experience that treating someone as breakable or dangerous was no way to relax them or make them feel included.

“I’m ever so sorry that I couldn’t be here for your first lesson.” He spoke with genuine apology lacing his tone, eyes meeting Credence’s even as the boy shifted slightly on the spot, eyes hinting that he was unsure of how to respond so Newt continued, if a tad hesitantly. “Circumstances arose that were… unavoidable and I promise that I will do my best to be here in future if you still want me to.”

“Yes… thank you.” Credence’s reply was quiet but unusually firm, eyes uncertain but still seeming to be trying his best to assert himself, almost as if forcing himself to remember that he was allowed to have an opinion of his own.  There was a light knock at the front door then and Tina excused herself to go and answer it, Credence eyed Newt with further indecision then and stepped close, head down in a more familiarly submissive gesture before he spoke – the words muttered hard and fast, like a secret. “Can you tell me? About my family? He said you could.”

Newt blinked, confused and replied just as quietly but with slow hesitancy “I’m afraid I don’t know much more about your origins than anyone else I’m afraid, except that you don’t belong to the Lestrange family after all, I think.” His brows furrowed in consternation even as he heard footsteps in the corridor. “Who told you that I would?”    

Credence’s face creased then, looking confused and desperate “But he said-” He broke himself off as Tina re-entered, Dumbledore in tow, resplendent in dark blue suit, silver thread lining the cuffs and lapels. He smiled genially at both younger men, Credence’s face melting back into impassive blankness, though with a slight tension of disappointment weighing upon him. Newt put aside his confusion and worry for the moment, sensing that whatever Credence had on his mind, he apparently didn’t want Tina or Dumbledore hearing about it. He had a bad feeling he knew exactly who ‘he’ was and though he told himself forced-optimistically that it probably wasn’t what he thought, Newt knew deep inside that things had apparently become more complicated than he had anticipated. The young magizoologist didn’t want to risk upsetting Credence again however by pursuing the subject when he clearly wanted to let it lie for the time being and so forced a smile to grace his lips and directed a nod in Albus’ direction as he inclined his head politely in greeting.

“Good to see you again Credence, Newt.” He graced each man with a brief smile in turn and held aloft a book from a small stack that he had held under his left arm “I thought we might start with work on elemental theory today if that interests you.” He directed the question towards Credence who frowned very slightly but nodded, interest alighting his eyes as he eyed the book. Dumbledore handed the volume over to Credence who took it a bit numbly and retreated over to the nearest armchair where he opened it and began to pore upon the words as if ravenous for the information they provided.

Newt shifted slightly on his feet, unsure of what his role here was as the young man became so involved in the book, he had been under the impression that he had been wanted here so that he might offer advice upon the more practical elements of his education or even more likely on beasts. As it was, it felt as though he were merely here as a spectator, Dumbledore was busying himself setting the stack of books neatly upon the nearby table beside Credence’s occupied chair and after a moment he turned back to face Tina and Newt. “There is something that I wished to discuss with the two of you if you have no objections.”

Newt started, glancing over at Tina in confusion but she shrugged slightly and nodded, Dumbledore looked over to Credence and said. “If you need any clarifications on anything we’ll only be in the next room.”             

Credence barely nodded, legs curling up onto the armchair, book and arms going to rest upon the armrest and the three elder wizarding-folk shared a mildly amused smile before adjourning to the room along. It turned out to be a washing room of some sort, large metal drums with half soaked shirts hanging, dripping water gradually into the basins from where they hung on a line. Tina shrugged and explained briefly at the questioning gaze “I’m showing him how to do washing with magic, but he said he preferred doing it by hand – apparently he finds it relaxing.” Newt nodded, understanding that Credence may be keen on the theoretical side of magic but engaging in the practical aspect of it after all that he had experienced of it was likely still a challenge.

“What did you want to talk about?” Newt asked, turning his attention to Albus who was regarding the room with a light, patient curiosity. He turned his gaze back to Newt and the younger found a routine calmness residing in his expression, but the bond twanged with something deeper that was close to indecision. 

“I believe that it would benefit Credence to learn how to guard his mind against manipulation and Legilimency.”

Tina’s brows rose and her lips parted in surprise before thinning into a stoic line “I think you may be right but I’m not sure if he trusts any of us yet to be challenging him or going through his memories like that.”

“Perhaps, but he is at more risk than most when it comes to his abilities being harnessed for the wrong purposes, I can tell that he may well be a very adept student as he is eager to learn. He seems to be dedicated to learning to control his… more destructive impulses and the techniques involved in learning Occlumency are ones that could also be useful in teaching him to control his emotions better. Meditative practice even.”       

Newt tilted his head speculatively, Albus had a valid point but he also agreed with Tina that it could be a risk challenging such tenuously built trust between Credence and any of them by attempting such an invasive and difficult line of teaching. Tina seemed clearly split in her opinion too but unsure of how to voice her opinion to Dumbledore without coming off as inexperienced or rude; she was certainly neither after all. Having a natural-born Legilimens for a sister gave her a more knowledgeable perspective than most on how it felt to regularly have your mind invaded by another. However, having had a comparable yet far less amiable experience from recent times, Newt could understand just how important it could be for Credence to gain sort of confidence in his own autonomy and ability to control his emotions.

“I think it might actually be good idea, but do you think he will trust you to teach him something like that – I think he’s probably mistrustful of anyone invading his mind, let alone someone he barely knows.” Newt flushed slightly as the words sounded harsher than he had intended “Sorry, Pro- Albus.”

Dumbledore inclined his head in Newt’s direction “No, you are quite right, but I believe that is why he might benefit from a joint approach on the matter.”

Tina frowned “What do you mean?”

“I believe this might work best if I schooled you in the appropriate methods and you were the one to in turn teach them to Credence. He trusts you Miss Goldstein and would likely react better then he would to I or Newt.”    

Tina looked a bit flabbergasted but nodded after a few moments, jaw setting resolutely “Very well, if you think its what’s best.”     

“Thank you, Miss Goldstein, I promise that shall be as careful as I can with the memories I attempt to access. Though I’m sure you have practice enough with controlling your own thoughts around your sister that this should perhaps be easier for you.”   

“You could say that.” Tina huffed with a half-bitter smile and Newt shared the sentiment with his own half-smile. “When were you planning on beginning with these lessons?”

“Not straight away, I feel it would be best to teach you the basics before venturing the idea forth to Credence, thus the need for privacy. Perhaps in a week or so?”

Tina nodded, looking a little more reassured that the plan was not quite as imminent as it could have been, Newt stood there, feeling even more out of place than before – what exactly was his purpose here if Dumbledore seemed to have things so well in hand? Dumbledore must’ve sensed his quandary as he smiled briefly at him before turning back to Tina and suggesting “Would you mind checking on Credence’s progress, I recall there is a passage in the second chapter that may require some clarification.” 

Tina clearly recognised the proposition as her que to leave them and nodded before heading into the next room, leaving Newt and his former teacher alone in the washroom with nothing but the irregular drip of water to break the silence until Newt spoke. “I can’t help but feel rather useless here, I’m no teacher and I definitely have no expertise in Legilimency.”

Dumbledore’s smile was patient and fond in equal amounts “That is precisely what I wished to talk to you about, Newt, I thought that you might also benefit from the same lessons as Credence – or at least the ones on the defence of your mind. I know that you struggled with such pursuits in your youth but I’m sure you can appreciate now more than ever the necessity of such skills.”

Newt blinked but nodded quickly, appreciating the very line of thought that his own mind had been taking him upon after the suggestion Percival had made; feeling that it would be useful to see if it made any difference in his defences against Grindelwald. Especially now that he had been rendered silent in the traditional sense – it opened the possibility that he may be able to find some peace in his own head and sleep. “I would appreciate it, but… would it be you teaching me?” He trusted Albus but he held some reservations over how much of his memories he felt comfortable with the man seeing; he felt deep shame for much of what had occurred between him and Gellert and was still unsure over exactly how much Albus felt of it through the bond or his own perception.     

Dumbledore’s smile slipped into something more appropriately sombrely sedated, but his bright blue eyes remained open “Only if you have no quarrels with it.”

Newt paused and that seemed to be enough to betray his misgivings and Albus released a breath, head ducking before his lips curved again slightly “I can understand that you may wish to keep as much of yourself secret from others after the invasion of your privacy that you have already experienced.” He looked so understanding in that moment that Newt’s awkwardness and embarrassment melted away slightly from where his silent refusal had spawned it. “Might it be easier should you allow Mr Graves to teach you if he is willing and has the opportunity to do so?”

Newt paused again but for a briefer period and nodded thoughtfully “He has already suggested that I learn Occlumency and I think I owe him the opportunity to show him that I trust him enough to do so.” He regarded Albus with a mildly pained expression; one of apology. “It’s nothing personal, I just-”

Albus smiled softened into open fondness once more and he shook his head, hands in pockets “It’s alright, Newt, I understand perfectly. I hope this acts as an opportunity too for you to clear the air between yourself and Mr Graves.” His brows creased into an expression of apology though only in the sense of propriety it seemed “I couldn’t help but notice that there were some tensions that were recently brought up between you even as others were resolved.” Newt flushed slightly at the mores of the last time Percival had come into _quite violent_ contact with Albus and the whirlwind of events that followed. The apology in the elder’s expression seemed to increase in its genuineness. “I trust that the increased measures I placed upon Gellert were enough to make the situation…easier at least?”

“Yes, thank you, I-…” Newt paused, feeling that he needed to clear a little of the smog from between them as well, head ducking but eyes remaining resolute as he regarded the other through his fringe “I’m sorry for letting myself be effected by Gellert as much as I have regardless of your warnings. I let myself be drawn in by what I shouldn’t have, and it was foolish of me to keep it from you.”

Albus’ expression became almost as pained “You bear little blame in this, Newt. Being accosted at such levels as you have been would be enough to make the road ahead that much less clear and the consequences of your decisions all the more difficult to predict. And even when you see the right course, it is not always possible or wise to follow. Gellert has expertise beyond any else I have encountered in turning even the best of intentions against people.” He placed a hand on Newt’s shoulder in a brief gesture “I feel that I am progressing in my research into the connection of the blood-bond, but I still believe we are right in thinking that this the first of such circumstances to occur. I have found records of similarly blood-bound mental or physical connections, even if their origins vary from how this one came about. It may take some time to assure myself of certain details but there is a possibility of something that could be done to undo the bond.” He grimaced slightly even as Newt’s heart clenched just a bit in hope at the words; the idea that this state of perpetual tension might one day be released without the need for further bloodshed. “I cannot be sure of anything and I was hesitant to mention anything before now lest I prove my suspicions to be naught.”

“I understand - I appreciate everything you’ve been doing.”

“It’s the very least I can do, Newt, after everything you have done, though don’t make the mistake of thinking that this is an entirely unselfish venture on my part.” He released a humourless huff of laughter “I’m sure you are perhaps one of the few people who could appreciate just how much I wish to be disengaged from Gellert.”

Newt shared in the bitter humour, a thin, brittle smile cracking his lips in its fragility. “I don’t blame you; some people just have no sense of personal space.” His attempt at breaking the tension with awkward humour seemed to have the desired effect for once as Albus’ lips curved, and he released a muted exhale of laughter.   

“That is certainly a mild way of putting it.” Both shared in a vile twinge of discomfort as similar tracks of thoughts thrummed along the bond; of precisely what Gellert was capable of. The bland, acerbic humour was a mask of pain, but it helped to normalise things that couldn’t be considered normal or bearable without such coping techniques. Dumbledore made a show of breaking the tension apart further by sweeping a hand through his hair and across his jaw before speaking again in a purposefully more normal tone. “I think Credence may benefit from a more practical demonstration today than his previous lesson allowed.” Newt took the que and headed towards the door, followed by his mentor as they emerged to the sight of Tina perched upon the armrest beside Credence, pointing out a section to him and muttering explanations that helped to dissipate the frown that had formed upon his sharp-featured face.

They both looked up as the two men entered, Credence looking customarily apprehensive but also slightly excited; as if the potential for practical magic demonstrations that he foresaw from their reappearance were both frightening and heartening - a perhaps sensible attitude to take to magic. Dumbledore removed his coat and draped it over a nearby chair, drawing his wand for the purposes of the demonstration though Newt noted with some disapproval and shock that another wand handle poked out of the coat’s pocket. One that was engraved with runes and bleached white. He was rather troubled to see that Albus kept the Elder Wand with him and while he understood that keeping such a powerful artefact where he could keep an eye on it at all times was perhaps a safer bet, he didn’t like the idea of a wand with such a corrupting, bloody history residing so close to easy access. Dumbledore had promised that he wouldn’t use it beyond what was necessary for keeping Grindelwald in captivity, yet here it was. Having seen his past with the temptation of power and his youthful obsession with the Deathly Hallows, Newt couldn’t help but feel a twinge of suspicion and apprehension at the thought of Albus being in such continued contact with something that could just as easily corrupt him as it could prevent Grindelwald’s escape.  

He forced his gaze very deliberately from it lest Albus notice and mistake his interest for something more than it was, instead looking over to where Credence was following Dumbledore’s direction towards the front door. He followed the others outside, head lowered slightly in his tenseness as they went into the small stretch of grass in front of the cottage, Dumbledore still holding his wand and his expression and posture reminding Newt of fonder times in Hogwarts. The young magizoologist stood back to the side by the wall as Tina and Albus adopted a loose but still acceptable duelling stance in front of one another, he watched on with Credence as they exchanged a few less offensive spells, simply demonstrating the expected postures and motions of the spells. Tina had mentioned before in passing to Newt that she had been making sure to perform numerous helpful and non-offensive spells around Credence to show him that magic was not to be feared. It seemed to have had a positive effect as Credence watched with only a trace of wariness lacing his dark gaze, brown eyes alight with subdued fascination. Newt understood the logic in demonstrating spells that were only meant as irritants rather than genuine attacks as Credence had already experienced enough of the more violent side of magic through both the power of the Obscurus and the chaos of attacks that was unleashed upon him in New York. Not to mention what he likely witnessed Grindelwald and the Aurors do in Paris.

Tina was clearly set with some nerves from engaging in even a fake duel with someone of Albus’ power and while Newt knew that his former professor was entirely capable of being careful with his spells from long years of teaching DADA, he still understood her apprehension. Tina only knew him as the figure of magical power to rival Grindelwald and likely in a more professional sense as someone who often flaunted the influence or opinions of the Ministries even if she had come to know him a little outside of those roles. An experienced Auror though she may be, he imagined that trading in such superfluous spells was something she was unused to, so Dumbledore’s use of the _Avis_ spell obviously took her off guard. A small flock of birds appeared around her and while they did not attack as the spell could be used to do, it put her off enough for Dumbledore to follow up with a spell that threw her back onto a conjured pile of cushions. Newt couldn’t help but repress a small smile at the bewildered expression on Tina’s face as she pushed herself back up awkwardly from the pile and the ashamedly amused expression on Credence’s face.

Dumbledore seemed to withholding a smile of his own as he glanced to Credence and said  “If you should ever find yourself in a situation that does require the use of combat magic, it is often a better tactic to distract or confuse your opponent rather than simply using brute force.” Credence nodded, looking spilt between guilty-amusement at the small swarm of birds that was hovering about Tina’s head despite her attempts to bat them off and solemn acceptance at the instruction he was being given. Taking pity on Tina, Dumbledore waved his wand at the swarm of brightly coloured birds and they dispersed, flying off to perch on the nearest tree, though they seemed oddly sentient as they continued to watch the proceedings from their place. Looking mildly disgruntled but also begrudgingly amused, Tina brushed some stray feathers off her coat and directed a pointed look at Newt who was smothering a smile, leant back against the outer sill of the front room window.

“Want to trade out, Newt?”

“You seem to be doing just fine, Tina.” He replied, grin slipping a little but still feeling calmer than earlier as the situation continued to remind him of simpler times in Hogwarts classrooms despite the change in scenery and circumstances.

“Will-… will I be getting a wand soon?” Credence’s hesitant though quietly enthusiastic voice drew the attention back to him and Tina’s brows creased whilst Dumbledore tilted his head in a noncommittal gesture.

“I think that a little more control practice would not go amiss before we move onto that. It can be a difficult and somewhat unpredictable experience to discover your wand at first and with such powerful raw magic as yours it may be best to wait a little longer.” Credence’s expression crumpled a little in disappointment but the years of practice at schooling his expression into blank subservience clearly kicked in. Newt felt bad for the young man – being shown so much that he was not yet ready to do himself and still afraid of the darkness that lay within him. He knew how difficult it must be for Credence to control his emotions for fear of hurting those around him even if the young man was doing a commendable job thus far. As the duelling practice continued, both Tina and Albus occasionally halting for either a breather or to explain something should Credence look curious or confused by the spells or wand technique, Newt found his attention drifting from the action before him. He instead scanned the scenery surrounding the cottage, perched upon the windowsill with his feet brushing the grass beneath him as he followed the patterns of the local wildlife and foliage. There was the usual array of squirrels, finches, rabbits, pheasants and the odd deer that stayed far from the barrier surrounding Credence’s temporary shelter, but they clearly sensed the layers of magic and ventured no closer than a dozen feet.

He turned his gaze up to the conjured birds that still sat perched upon the nearby branches and wondered if he could tempt them out of the barrier when the time came for him to leave. As much as he realised that they were creations of magic and would only last for as long as Dumbledore neglected to release the spell, he still felt sympathy for them as they were just as aware as their natural counterparts of the barrier that prevented them from leaving the area. The breeze that blew through the artificially created glade in which the cottage resided ruffled his hair, their feathers and the leaves around them, the plumage of the birds varying from soft russet to a brighter yellow depending on the species – the conjured breeds evidently purposed to be distracting. Standing out however from the flock of Finches, Jays and Robins however was one bird that seemed almost sickly in its ashy, malting feathers – it resided on a lower branch than the others, nestled in a pile of ashes and twigs in a manner that whilst being familiar to the young magizoologist, didn’t seem right in this context.

He stood, dropping lightly from his own perch as he approached the tree, reaching up with a careful, gentle hand to move aside a little of the ashy mess beneath it to better examine the bird. It was a tiny, stunted grey thing but Newt had no trouble identifying the dormant state of what could be nothing other than a Phoenix. He had no idea why it was here or where it could have come from, as they were exceedingly rare and weren’t known to nest as normal birds would, let alone in a tree that resided in such a heavily warded location in England. It turned its head towards him, dislodging some of the ash and causing it to fall from the branch, caught in the breeze below it and Newt was quick to place a careful finger upon the bird’s head, it felt warm but nowhere near as warm as it should. He gently cupped the creature in his hand, marvelling at the delicate spread of feathers even in their desiccating state and in comparison to such a tiny body. It seemed that this one had not yet gone through its first burning and Newt could only imagine that its family must have been poached or killed as Phoenix were so exceedingly rare and valuable due to their immense power and tears. There was no way that this creature was a part of the flock that Dumbledore had conjured as most magical creatures – especially Phoenix – could not simply be created in such a way. It took skill to even emulate the more mundane creatures’ forms as Dumbledore had and Newt knew that such a specific breed of magical bird was likely beyond even him to conjure.

The bird seemed happy to curl into the warmth his skin provided as it shifted from its branch in a lethargic movement, dropping a short distance into Newt’s hand with a little puff of desiccating feathers. He cupped it gently, knowing that he needed to get it to a source of fire so that it could be reborn in the proper setting, deciding that the fireplace in the living room would likely be the best place to do so. Newt didn’t even think to glance back at the ongoing lesson, so focussed was he on aiding the ailing Phoenix that he brushed through into the house and over to the fireplace, not even hearing the call from Tina as he did so. The Phoenix, its downy feathers still dropping and being caught in the breeze as Newt moved gave a little gagging noise and Newt ran a soothing finger over its head, careful of the slight snap it made at him with its onyx coloured beak. Phoenix were near impossible to domesticate and while were mostly peaceful creatures, still could prove incredibly dangerous when provoked, he was careful not to upset the infant not only out of concern for the hatchling but as he knew that an angered Phoenix nearby an Obscurus was a distinctly terrible idea. Even if both seemed sedate for the time being.

The young magizoologist lay the hatchling down in the empty grate, glad that the ashes from the last fire had not yet been cleaned out as the bird settled down into them, emanating bright red sparks that buried their way into the cinders, rekindling flames to glow bright and fierce. Newt made sure to take a step back even as he levitated a log over to carefully rest nearby the Phoenix, ready to fuel the fire when the hatchling began to flame in earnest – it wasn’t necessary for their re-birth of course, but it did help to have some fuel to burn up on the christening. There was another gag, a cough and then another as the sparks began to dance faster and more virulently around the fledgling, quickly catching as the creature’s wings spread out abruptly, the span growing rapidly to the length comparable to that of a swan as they flapped the sparks, fanning them into proper flames. Newt felt the heat singe his face but couldn’t bring himself to tear his smarting eyes away from the magnificent sight of the Phoenix’s first rebirth as it was engulfed in flames. It disappeared for several long moments before there was a bright silhouette that shone through the smoke and flame – the distinct shape and wingspan of the fully formed Phoenix. There was another rush of heat as the Phoenix flapped its wings, hovering majestically in the tall fireplace above the ash and cindered wood before it gracefully descended once more onto the lintel.    

Newt found himself wiping his eyes only as a brief afterthought so that he could be sure of the Phoenix’s wellbeing and reality as he crouched down again, shuffling very carefully forward and offering an incredibly tentative hand towards the fully-fledged bird in all its beautiful crimson plumed and gold-beaked glory. The cone of the Phoenix was slightly longer than the ones he had read about and seen in diagrams and depictions before but it was clear even from his purely theoretical knowledge and experience of similar creatures – such as the Thunderbird and Augurey – that this one seemed healthy enough. He heard a gasp issue from behind him, saw the Phoenix tense, feathers preparing for flight at the potential for a new threat before Newt turned slightly, keeping both in view as his eyes fixed upon the other three who had followed him in. How long Dumbledore, Tina and Credence had been there, he wasn’t sure – so focussed he had been upon the Phoenix to notice much else but now he held up a cautioning hand to them.

“Stay there.” Newt spoke in a careful, firm tone though it remained quiet as to not startle the new born and Albus inclined his head, eying the Phoenix with a perplexed though awed expression that seemed to eclipse all else from his attention. Tina looked shocked and confused in equal amounts, one hand clenched slightly around Credence’s arm who was regarding the Phoenix with admiration, even if he likely didn’t know just how significant what he had just witnessed was. “He may be a jot jumpy in his post-flaming stage so please no one make any sudden movements or try to touch him.”          

“Newt… is that what I think it is?” Tina’s voice was hesitant and a little frightened but also a trace daunted, and Newt had to push back a smile as he nodded subtly, slowly.

“It’s a gold-crested Phoenix, yes, though what it is doing here, I have no idea.” He crouched again slowly, using a careful hand to guide the Phoenix forward with some seeds he had lying loose in his coat pocket from feeding the Augury earlier. It looked at him in a condescending sort of bafflement; as if he knew he was being bribed but still seemed sure enough of Newt’s character and scent to take the offer seriously. After a little while he pecked the seed from Newt’s outstretched, flat-palmed hand and while he nipped at his fingers quite sharply, Newt could tell it was more of a token show of force rather than a genuine assault. He was merely asserting himself as being more than your average beast of burden – Phoenix were proud and intelligent creatures so understandably demanded respect from wizards. The young magizoologist smiled softly, risking running two fingers reverently over the hooked black beak, admiring the very slight sheen of gold that ran through the onyx surface, mirroring that of the primary feathers’ tips in its vibrancy.

“You’re a striking one, aren’t you?” Newt found himself murmuring and had to stifle another laugh as some of the haughtiness fell from his expression and he did something that could have very easily been interpreted as preening. Rubbing his face into Newt’s outstretched fingers, nipping very slightly at the silver inlaid there and despite the brief flashes of joint familiar images and sensations that shot through Newt the contact, he grinned, nonetheless. The expression softened into gentle concern as he asked in a low voice “Where are your family I wonder?” Black eyes regarded him in an oddly blank look; no apparent sadness or misgivings in them as he looked from Newt, to each other human in the room with clear inquisitiveness. Seeming unperturbed by what he found – Phoenix often having a good sense of what was a threat – though his fierce gaze did linger a bit longer on Credence than it did anyone Albus or Tina. Newt assumed that is was because the bird could sense the raw magical potential and the subsequent presence of the Obscurus within him, though the young magizoologist was heartened and somewhat relieved to see that the newly-flamed Phoenix didn’t take offense to him. Maybe he could sense that Credence was truly of a good sort and was therefore unlikely to cause harm.              

“Newt.” It was Dumbledore who was speaking, seeming to have finally found his voice – likely the only other in the room who could truly appreciate just what a miracle this was – and Newt turned his head to face him. Albus’ expression was equal parts awed, puzzled and a little pained though Newt couldn’t place why. “Where in the name of Merlin did you find a Phoenix?”

Newt ducked his head a little, nonplussed “He was on the branch nearby where your birds were perched, I think they may have woken him up. They tend to be very sleepy in the state before their re-birth. I don’t know how he got here but I’m just glad that he seems to be none the worse for having been abandoned. Phoenix don’t leave their hatchlings alone by choice – especially not before their first flaming.”

Dumbledore nodded but the troubled look did not leave his face though he softened it slightly by letting awe seep through more strongly. “Do you believe that it might be safe to move him? Perhaps to your case if advisable.” Newt sensed that he wanted the hatchling Phoenix away from Credence and understood the caution involved in suggesting such a thing; glancing over to the bird before nodding hesitantly.

“I think so, I’ll have to ask him first and set him aside from the others, but I think it should be alright.” He turned fully back to the young bird and made sure to make direct eye contact, gaining his full attention before holding out an arm towards him. “Would you like to come with me? I can take you somewhere safer than here if that’s what you want. I promise that if your family returns you can return to them whenever you wish or if you simply want to leave that’s fine too.”

The Phoenix regarded him for some time, seeming to ponder his words before flapping both impressive wings at their almost full span, at first Newt was disheartened, thinking that he was leaving but then felt a thrill of delight and awe at the respect the bird showed him by clambering up onto his arm. He stood slowly, careful to not break his contact or apparent equilibrium with the Phoenix before turning to face the others once more, not being able to abate the childish grin from spreading across his face further. It was simply miraculous that he had not only encountered a Phoenix but found one alone in its first hatching cycle where it was still trusting enough to accept a human’s help. He rated them as dangerous in his book due to their notoriously untameable nature - even if they were powerful creatures on another level compared to most, they were peaceful creatures that avoided humans as a rule. He wasn’t entirely sure what had prompted this one to come so close to a human dwelling, let alone one occupied by wizard-folk and an Obscurial or why he trusted Newt, but he wasn’t going to tempt fate by questioning it too deeply. It was simply an immeasurable honour to have the opportunity to meet and care for such a magnificent creature.

On a whim and as almost a test as he walked across the room, Newt stepped a little closer to Credence than was perhaps necessary and smiled encouragingly as Credence’s eyes scanned eagerly over the bird who regarded him in turn with apparent interest. “T-this is a Phoenix?”

Newt nodded, briefly glancing over at Tina and Dumbledore to assure himself and them that he had the situation well enough in hand. “Yes, they’re very rare, you almost never see them in England as they’re native to India and-”

“Egypt.” Newt started in surprise as Credence cut in softly and nodded in astonished approval.

“Well yes, very good, but how did you know that?”

Credence ducked his head a little embarrassedly and went over to the stack of books that lay upon the table, almost knocking it over as he extricated one from near the bottom of the pile. He held it aloft and offered a sheepish though slightly proud seeming smile, barely a twitch of the lips but enough so that Newt felt his heart clench a little in an odd pride of his own as he saw the title emblazoned upon the book in clean gold lettering _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them._

Newt instantly felt a well of suspicion – amusedly delighted though it was, and he directed a quick look over to where Dumbledore was watching it similar sentiment and inclined his head very slightly towards the older man. “I felt that including such an extensive and unique perspective of magical creatures alongside various materials and laws might benefit from some educational testing before I further press upon the Headmaster introducing your book to the Hogwarts syllabus.”

“I found it more interesting than the other ones on creatures, most of them aren’t very sympathetic over… what was it called again…oh yeah ‘half-breeds’ – wizards who aren’t counted as part of the community cause they’re… less than human.” Credence’s face crumpled slightly, and Newt felt a tugging sensation within his chest at the thought that some of the others in his field of magizoology had written about part-human creatures in such a way that Credence believed himself to be less than others.

He didn’t venture forward, still wary of the Phoenix on his arm but he offered the younger man as soft and genuine expression as he could “Just because you are an Obscurial doesn’t mean you are any less than human or any other in the wizarding community, Credence. Just because you have different aspect to yourself doesn’t make you less; you are stronger both in magic and spirit than any Obscurial in history simply for having lived this long and if that doesn’t indicate being worthy of inclusion in the wizarding world I don’t know what would.” He offered him a grim smile, laced with knowing and earnest apology “Even if you believe yourself to be amongst those who aren’t entirely human, don’t assume it’s a bad thing. Creatures of magic can be amongst the most wonderful and compassionate of all.”

Credence’s brows were still crumpled but it seemed to be more in consideration of Newt’s words rather than the shame that had become prevalent before. “Do you really think so, Mr Scamander?”           

“I wouldn’t have said it otherwise, would I?” Newt replied and he was pleased to see a trace of a smirk creep onto Credence’s expression even if it still seemed reluctant. “And call me Newt, please.” Newt offered him another soft smile before turning his attention back to the Phoenix perched on his arm who was regarding him imperiously; as if impatient for something. “Alright, alright I get the hint.” He muttered as the bird pecked irritably at his finger – thankfully not one veined with silver-glass – and he moved towards the door with quick nods to the room’s occupants who were regarding him with mild amusement. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help in the demonstrations but good luck with the rest of the lessons.” Tina nodded warmly and Albus inclined his head, Credence’s eyes too locked onto the Phoenix still to entirely notice Newt’s words.

Once he had stepped outside into the front garden, he carefully dismantled the wards just long enough to allow himself to leave alongside the new friend who moved to perch upon his shoulder – seemingly irritated by the unsteady movement of Newt’s arm. He gratefully lowered it, glancing at the Phoenix awkwardly as his wings spread slightly for balance, one brushing the back of Newt’s hair as he did so. “I’m going to apparate now if that’s alright.” He murmured and received what seemed to be an affirmation of his intentions as the Phoenix pressed his claws a little tighter into Newt’s shoulder through his coat before ducking his head. Newt apparated as soon as he was out of the bubble of warding, appearing just outside his front door and hastening to enter before anyone noticed the highly unusual and rare magical bird perched upon him.

Newt practically jogged – as fast as he was able to without upsetting the Phoenix down to the underground creature sanctuary, calling out excitedly as he went “Bunty! Bunty! You’ll never guess who I’ve brought to stay, at least for little while.” He admonished the last part as the Phoenix cawed a little disapprovingly; clearly unhappy with the implication of being owned which Newt didn’t intend but had slipped up on in his enthusiasm. The young magizoologist hurried down the steps, laughing a little as the Phoenix spread his superb crimson and gold wings and flapped along beside him, buffeting Newt a little as he soared up into the clear night sky of the nearest enclosure. He did a few impressively speedy laps of the different enclosures before seeming to decide upon one that appealed to the Phoenix’s natural preferences. As Newt had predicted, he came to roost in the rocky mountain side with a mild- mid-range climate alongside the Augury – the Irish cousin of the Phoenix - and chose the highest peak on which to nest. He used his impressively sharp curved golden claws to dig further grooves into the stone – making it clear to its fellow aviary creatures that the space was claimed, he regarded Newt and the other beasts with a superior edge but one that hinted at tolerance nonetheless, releasing a long, loud cry.

“What on earth is all this noise about? You’re frightening the Mooncalves!” Bunty’s voice issued from nearby as she hurried over to where Newt stood, beaming up at the Phoenix, her ranting quickly cutting off as she let out a squeak of surprise. “Merlin’s beard! Is that truly a Phoenix?”                 

“Yep.” Newt grinned, shucking off his coat and rolling up his sleeves as he gathered up a nearby pellet bucket filled with flobberworms and seeds. “Found him; here in London or thereabouts. No idea what he was doing here but he seems oddly happy to be offered a home even if he’s a little standoffish.” He heard an indignant caw from above and chuckled as he felt a few smaller broken pieces of rock spatter down onto him as he began to climb up the rockface with practised ease despite the bucket in one hand. “Okay, maybe not standoffish – just proud and very rightly so. He’s an impressive creature to be sure.” That earned him a triumphant caw and he had to once again resist the urge to laugh as he spread out a handful of the food to the other birds in an attempt to placate them after being snubbed so obviously by the newcomer. They seemed disgruntled but took the bribe with glad beaks, Newt brushing off his hand briefly on his trousers before climbing up higher to offer some to the Phoenix who nosed it for a bit before too accepting the offering though insisting with clear body language that he should place it upon the stone in front of him first.

The food offerings successfully made, Newt clambered back down to where Bunty watched with wide, awed eyes and she hastened to take the bucket off him, babbling in her excitement. “How ever did you get him to come with you? The only ones I’ve heard of usually disappear as soon as they see a human. How old do you reckon he is? Has he gone through his first flame yet? Was he the only one?”

Newt did his best to answer the flurry of questions as he moved about the various enclosures with her, both half-absorbed in the conversation and the mechanical nature of the tasks at hand. The flow of enthused conversation only ran dry after a long enough time for the tasks to have been completed and to the point where they had both made their way back up to Newt’s kitchen. They were both halfway through their second or perhaps third mug of absently made tea when Newt heard the customary whoosh from the living room that indicated the Floo-connection had just been used. He smiled into his cup when Percival entered in a swirl of dramatic black dress coat and the scent of coffee mixed with a hint of Fire-whiskey, following the sounds of Bunty’s continued babbling and it cutting quite short as she saw the American Auror and blushed fiercely, placing down her cup and mumbling excuses hastily, moving to leave.

“Thank you, Bunty, take the rest of the afternoon off.” She nodded hastily, going to the corridor to grab her coat and the two men hearing the door slam soon after. “You didn’t have to intimidate her like that, Percy.” He commented in a faux reprimand, Percival raised a weary eyebrow, setting down his coat, waistcoat and case upon the kitchen table and moving forward to the stove to reheat another kettle of water for coffee.

“I wasn’t aware I was doing anything of the sort.”

“And you claim I’m ignorant of the ‘effect’ I have on people.” Newt teased in a mutter, smiling into the dregs of his tea before placing the cup in the sink behind him. Percival smirked tiredly though fondly.

“You _are_.” He chuckled lowly “Morgana only knows why, but you seem to see everything around you except for what you do to people with that ridiculously lovely face of yours.” Newt flushed but instead of waving off the sappy comment as he usually might have, he simply found himself revelling a little in the fact that Percival seemed to truly believe what he was saying; the discovery of the Phoenix had put him in an unbearably light mood and his partner seemed to notice this. “Today’s lesson with Credence was successful then?”     

Newt nodded enthusiastically “Yes, I think so, even if he still seemed to have held on to some of the unfortunate notions concerning his own worth that his mother ingrained into him but he’s a keen learner so I think we might be making headway. Or at least Tina is mainly.” He let his smile slip back onto his lips, unable to keep in his eagerness over the Phoenix to himself any longer, even after talking at length with Bunty about him. “It wasn’t just that though, had a bloody miracle happen – there was a _Phoenix_ in the garden outside the house. Still in its hatchling phase and I got to see it flame, stunning bird and very intelligent too.” A thought occurred to him them and he smiled wider than ever, though thoughtfully “I could issue a re-write on my book’s section on the Phoenix now that I have the opportunity to study one for myself.”   

“A Phoenix you say?” Percival’s expression was strained but interested, nonetheless. “Am I to assume that your new feathery – incredibly _dangerous_ – friend is currently downstairs?”

Newt frowned slightly, spirits dampened by Percival’s oddly placed concern – there were much more volatile creatures in his case and collection than a Phoenix. “Yes, he seemed happy enough to come with me and that’s a rare enough occurrence in itself to tell me that he’s of a good sort.”

“Newt, you do realise that Phoenix are one of most powerful magical creatures there are - let alone how illegal? How sought after?”

“Of course, I know that, Percival, I do technically still work for the DRCMC and have written extensively on them.” He kept his tone patronisingly slow as he stated the obvious, fixing the Auror with a pointed stare. “What’s this really about?”

Percival sighed slightly, fingers tracing the rim of his mug absently as he replied, “I’m sorry, Newt, but the international mood on magical creatures is not good at all and all I can do is urge you not to make this too public.”   

“What do you mean ‘not good’?” What have you heard?” Newt frown deepened; none of his colleagues or sources within the magizoological or other connected wizarding fields had mentioned anything of the sort. But then again, he hadn't heard much from any of them recently, excluding his conveniently based contact who had secured Frank's new home in Arizona for him after Newt was forced to leave the States earlier than originally planned. 

“The reception to your book amongst some of the Ministerial communities hasn’t been quite as positive as it was from the more enlightened members of the wizarding community. There’s been talk about you enough after all the…issues with Grindelwald and with-”

“With those articles about us you mean?” Percival’s head jerked up in surprise and Newt shrugged apathetically at his shock. “I was going to find out about them sooner or later, Percival and I’m sorry if they’re causing you problems at work, but it doesn’t matter all that much to me.”

Percival looked almost stricken “That wasn’t what I meant, Newt, I’m sorry if it seemed that way. I’m only concerned that the wrong sort of attention might be drawn if you start revising your work whilst it’s still being absorbed and adding very rare and volatile creatures to your collection.” His expression was pained as he set down the mug to step forward and lightly grasp Newt’s arm.

“You’re beginning to sound like Theseus.” Newt commented in a lightly icy tone; eyebrow raised but with no real venom to any of it. Percival winced but seemed to see the lighter edge to the barb.

“Low blow, Newt. I’m not so sure I can recover from that one.” Newt cracked up slightly and leant forward to plant a teasingly quick kiss to Percival’s lips, grimacing slightly as he only tasted bitter coffee and a trace of Fire-Whiskey in the brief contact.  

“I understand your point; I might wait a bit before any re-issues but if you’re not too busy there’s something I can think of for you to do to make up for your entirely overprotective behaviour.” Percival’s brow rose, lips quirking into a flirtatious smirk before he slid his hands onto Newt’s hips, bringing him closer.        

“Oh, and what might that be?”

Newt cracked then into an apologetic, sheepish smirk “I was wondering if you might be willing or inclined to teach me Occlumency.”

Percival looked surprised and a little disappointed at first, but his expression soon turned into one of fervour and perhaps even relief. “Of course, but what’s brought this on? You didn’t seem all too keen on the idea before.”

Newt considered his response for a moment before deciding that honesty was probably the best policy but to keep Dumbledore’s suggestion on the down low lest Percival’s unnecessary jealousy and distaste for the man rear its ugly head once more. “Since Grindelwald can’t speak any more, he’s resorted to using Legilimency and if I’m entirely honest its probably worse than just having to listen to him.”

Percival’s eyes darkened, lips thinning and brow creasing as his fingers brushed lightly over Newt’s forehead, brushing his fringe away in the motion. “He’s been getting in your head again.” It wasn’t really a question, just an affirmation but Newt nodded nonetheless, and he seemed to consider the implications for a few moments. “Are you sure you want me to be the one to do this, Newt? I can understand if there are things that you wouldn’t want me to see. It can be difficult to control what memories are brought up; one wrong track of thought or emotion can derail the whole exercise and bring up things that may be best left unspoken.”

Newt knew this, having already attempted to learn the art before in his youth but feeling that he had perhaps a better grip on controlling unpleasant or private experiences than he may once have. If nothing else, the repeated mental assaults had taught Newt how to retract and occasionally extend certain feelings or memories, but he wanted to have a more definite control over it; a way to just push Gellert out if he needed to. “I have tried this before, so I know the basic mechanics of it, but I just want a way to be able to keep my thoughts to myself as much as I can. I trust you, Percival. If you’re happy doing this, then I don’t think I could ask for a better person to teach me.”

Percival’s expression turned a little sour but resigned at the same time as he suggested “You didn’t consider your professor to be a better candidate then?”

“He did offer,” Newt admitted, running a hand along Percival’s arm where it was clenched a little too tight upon his hip and the younger man had to ignore the not entirely unpleasant shivers it sent along his spine. “But I-… I didn’t feel like it would’ve been right do so. Its difficult enough having to share things through the bond – as much as I trust him, I don’t feel comfortable with him knowing everything that goes on in my head.” Gellert’s words about the trust issues between Newt and Percival played again in his head and he shook them away; this wasn’t an opportunity to pry into Percival’s work life or secrets, it was something that could be used to keep Gellert out of Newt’s decisions and hopefully even his sleep.   

Percival looked slightly consoled by the response though still a little troubled “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to see if I can set aside some time to take on a pupil.” His smile was light and deceptively teasing but Newt could tell that there was still something weighing upon him. _Worried about what he could find or what you might are you?_ Newt’s own smile slipped slightly as he shook off the thought, gently extricating himself from Percival’s hold and heading towards the cellar door.

“Do you want to meet him? The Phoenix that is?” Percival blinked, a little nonplussed by the sudden shift and nodded.

“I must admit I haven’t met one before though we once caught a group of poachers trying to sell off fake Phoenix feathers that turned out to be charmed chicken feathers.” He smiled slightly in reminiscence and while Newt shuddered at the thought of any of the wonderful species being taken apart for their valuable features, he mirrored a tiny smile of his own; glad that the subject change had worked.

“I’ve encountered more poachers, collectors and counterfeiters than I care to remember but I have to say charmed chicken feathers is a new one on me. Usually they at least have the ingenuity to use an actually magical creature, so the deception isn’t that obvious to an unsuspecting buyer.”

“This lot weren’t all that bright admittedly.” Percival conceded and Newt had to smile at the disappointed look on his face; as if he were ashamed of his country’s class of criminal compared to those that Newt had encountered. Newt was forced to duck as some of the more agitated insect life - namely the Billywigs - flew at him, clearly fleeing the sweep of red and gold wings, talons and beaks that was pursuing them. It was to be expected that the Phoenix would soon seek entertainment and more food, but Newt was confident that the Billywig were fast and agile enough to avoid him for the most part. Nevertheless, he let out a low, long call, having to repeat it a few times to get it right before the Phoenix eventually took notice of it, not coming over but halting, hovering several feet above one of the grassy hillocks. He regarded Newt and Percival with clear annoyance, not appreciating being asked to leave its prey as it descended to about eye level, almost glaring at Newt with beady black eyes. Newt fixed him with a resolute stare in return, arms crossed over his chest in a firm gesture of not being cowed but also not of aggression.         

“I know you probably want to let off some steam, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t attack anyone else while you’re here. This is a haven for them just as much as it is for you.” The Phoenix let out a caw that Newt took as protest as he buffeted Newt with his wings, the disproportionately strong blows knocking Newt back a step, but he kept his gaze firm and his expression unimpressed. After a few moments the Phoenix ceased in its attempt to intimidate and let out another long call before flapping twice and soaring back around the enclosures once in a sweeping circuit and landing back in his chosen nesting ground. The young magizoologist turned to Percival with an exasperated look, the Auror looking stuck between bemusement and admiration. “Sorry, it doesn’t seem that he’s quite as sociable as he was being earlier. Not surprising really, I don’t really know what prompted him to hatch or stay with me in the first place.”

“Is it really so unusual? Most creatures take a liking to you, Newt.”    

“I suppose, it just seems…” Newt tilted his head in a noncommittal gesture “Off.”

“Well that’s much clearer then.” Percival’s tone was light but Newt’s off-kilter feeling prompted him not to find too much humour in the Auror’s dry comment. He tried to explain the feeling as best he could whilst still being unsure of the reasoning behind it himself.

“I just… think I remember something to do with a Phoenix. A story maybe, but I can’t quite remember…”

“There are likely plenty of stories about Phoenix, Newt. Hell, I was a told one when I was young. Could you maybe be a little more specific?”

Newt shook his head bemusedly, pushing it from his mind for the time being lest he drive himself mad with the elusive feeling that tugged on the edge of his mind. “I don’t know, its probably nothing.”

Percival’s gaze softened and he snaked an arm around Newt’s waist again, drawing him closer into his side and Newt relaxed a little into the gesture, allowing the off feeling to drift away to the back of his mind. He turned to face Percival fully, pressing his chest to the older man’s and wrapping his arms around him in return, tracing a finger down his spine through his shirt in an absent manner. Percival’s lips unexpectedly brushed the stretch of skin behind Newt’s ear, sending surprisingly pleasant shudders through him that had Newt breathing in sharply, tilting his head to the side and allowing for more access. Percival’s chuckle hummed maddeningly against his skin and he moved to trace a path along Newt’s jawline over to his mouth, deepening the kiss until Newt was squirming against him as arousal swept through him like wildfire. The melted-honey feeling seemed to have intensified into something wilder and more visceral from the last time they kissed like this. It felt as though the experience had hardened something in Newt’s resolve when it came to such contact, fingers and movements become more fluid and a bit less awkward as he shifted himself against Percival. He broke off with a hazy, slightly dopey grin and met Percival’s eyes with some urgency that had the Auror returning the sentiment in dark humour.

In a quick swirl of colour and squeezing tight pressure they were instantly upstairs, though not on Newt’s bed, Percival’s aim was a little off it seemed in his excitement, Newt slammed against the wall above his desk and causing the Auror to curse. Newt found that he relished the ache and the force with which he was pressed to the wall, legs bent over the edge of his desk, scattering pens, quills, sketches and notes across the floor below them. Percival seemed to be trying to rectify his trajectory misaim, but Newt found his fingers twining tightly into Percival’s short hair, pulling him in for another kiss, deeper than the last and almost violent with need. He heard Percival stifle a groan and suddenly his hand was waving over Newt, unbuttoning his shirt and trousers in quick rough movements that had Newt gasping as the exposed skin was abruptly set upon by rough skinned hands and eager lips. Newt shimmied and wriggled as best he could out of the constricting material, assisting Percival in ridding himself of his clothes too in uncareful tugs, both releasing amused pants of breath at the eagerness of the other in the shared haze.

Newt felt the fiery sensations running along his skin in roaring waves now, sending shocks straight downwards, his erection pressed hard between them even as the last layers of clothes on each fell away. The desk creaked alarmingly below him as Percival pulled him abruptly forwards by his hips, the sensitive skin of Newt’s arse grinding against the wood in such a way that he felt his eyes flickering shut. His hand moved of its own accord to grasp Percival’s member in a teasing grip, running a finger delicately over the head, tracing the shape with touch alone, lost in the sensation and the familiar scent enveloping him. Percival’s natural scent overriding that of the Fire-whiskey and coffee.

Percival released a low growl and pulled Newt’s hand away in a quick, aggressive gesture, Newt’s sea-blue eyes shot open and he was relieved to nothing more than yearning in those blazing whiskey eyes; no trace of malicious intent. _You’re safe, Newt._ He focussed upon breathing and was mostly successful until Percival pressed his arms back against the wall, crawling up to straddle him, but it wasn’t the sudden change of position that alarmed the young magizoologist. It was the flash of white-blonde hair and mismatched silver-blue eyes that he glimpsed that had him yelling out and pushing back harshly, sending the man on top of him sprawling across the room and into the opposite wall with a silver flash.     

**A/N – So sorry again about the delay, don’t really have an excuse apart from dodgy Wi-Fi and writer’s block. I feel as if my latest chapters have been a bit meh but its honestly hard to tell. I’m trying to properly get the plot along as I want it to but at a realistic pace. It’s difficult ya’ll!**


	23. Chapter 23

**“Some days I can't even trust myself**

It's killing me to see you this way

**'Cause though the truth may vary, this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore.**

**There's an old voice in my head that's holding me back**

Well, tell her that I miss our little talks

**Soon it will be over and buried with our past.**

**...Some days, I don't know if I am wrong or right**

Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear

**...You're gone, gone, gone away; I watched you disappear, a** **ll that's left is a ghost of you.**

**Now we're torn, torn, torn apart; there's nothing we can do, j** **ust let me go, we'll meet again soon.**

**Now wait, wait, wait for me; please hang around,** **I'll see you when I fall asleep…” – ‘Little Talks’ – Of Monsters & Men**

The image of Gellert’s face twisted in what could only be described as a potent and terrifying cross between admiration and rage fuelled covetousness. The image and Juniper-sour scent playing in front of Newt’s eyes in the moments before and after he threw the man on top of him away. He couldn’t pinpoint where the image was coming from – whether it was in front of him or everywhere around him...or secluded to a full body image in the corner of the room. It hazed his vision with multiple versions of the same watchful eyes and sneering expression pervading his senses into patterns across the room and the face directly in front of him. It was all so sudden and confusing, and Newt’s brain didn’t know how to handle it, so it responded with the strange silver, violent magic. He didn’t mean to release it as he did but it seemed to react his fear quicker than his brain could comprehend. As he looked over to where the man that looked like Percival landed in a crumpled heap atop the bed after colliding with wall he saw the glimpse of white and silver again on the corner nearby. He focussed in immediately upon the image of Gellert sitting in the corner of his battered bed, smirk firmly in place upon his pale lips, eyes glinting in dark humour and hand reaching down towards his own belt, unbuckling and reaching lower to… to…no, no, no, no, _no_.         

Newt’s vision blurred then, he curled his body as tight as it would go upon the desk, feeling for all the world like nothing more than a frightened, confused child. The man he had just blasted across the room _looked_ like Percival, acted like him and Newt hadn’t even _considered_ that it couldn’t be him. So assured was he in the long stretch of time in which such illusions and tricks had been absent from his life; the borders between the cell in Nurmengard and his life in London being mostly sound. But he was sure that he had seen the flashes of Gellert’s likeness; that white-blonde hair and those entirely unique mismatched eyes being extremely difficult to mistake for Percival’s own dark hair and eyes. It had been more than just a memory too, it had only occurred once his eyes were open, and in Newt’s experience, the memories didn’t need his eyes open to pervade his senses. The young magizoologist kept his eyes fixed upon the figure who was stirring on the bed across the room from him, not allowing his eyes to drift over to the corner for fear of what _else_ was invading his sight. He was regarding Newt with enough bewilderment and open concern that it tugged at Newt’s heart a little – made him want to believe more than ever that he had imagined the flash of another’s face, or that vague, unmistakable scent that still burned the insides of his nostrils.

But he couldn’t be sure.

He truly wanted to gather the confused looking man back into his arms, continue what they had been doing, be caught up once more in the blazing wildfire of hazy passion. But the uncertainty, the possibility that he wasn’t who he thought he was or that they weren’t alone… it was too much of a risk. As much as he didn’t want to rebuff Percival’s affections, he couldn’t bear the thought that he could well be accepting the advances of someone else entirely. So when the older man clambered stiffly off the bed, shoulders and dark ruffled hair dusted with plaster chips and bruising already, a trace of blood trickling down his arm, Newt flinched backwards further into the wall.

Sharp warm-whiskey eyes widened, he froze on the edge of the bed, pulling himself over to the edge of the bed, settling the blanket around his waist in a clear gesture of not coming any further. _Don’t look into the corner, don’t look, don’t look._  Newt could tell that he was trying to calm him down, but he could still feel his breath catching hot and sharp in his lungs, in his throat and chest, he was shaking hard, legs curled to his chest. There were no tears though. His eyes felt painfully dry as he refused to blink, not to prevent himself from crying; just because he knew that if he closed his eyes for even a moment there was the possibility that something could change. He couldn’t risk taking his eyes away if it meant there was a chance that he could open them again to see those terrifying eyes, that the warmth would be gone or that he would see what had been residing in that corner once more. Gellert watching him hungrily and moving to pleasure himself to the sight of…. - _NO, stop it_.            

“Newt, Newt, sweetheart, what are you seeing?” The voice was thankfully Percival’s; laced with just the right amount of concern cutting through the roughness of recent passion and shock but Newt had been convinced of it before. Maybe Gellert had been right – he knew Percival better than Newt had wanted to admit and could just as easily fake it from the long exposure he had of him through Percival’s interrogation and Newt’s own memories. He didn’t reply, pressed his lips tight together and had to blink in that moment, though not finding any relief in the fact that Percival stayed the same in the moment of weakness. He flinched again when Percival floated a blanket from the bed towards him, a slow, gentle motion that draped the material over Newt’s knees, giving him some cover but his eyes never left Newt’s face as he did so. “It’s alright, you’re safe, Newt, I’m sorry if I was too rough.” He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing visibly and eyes oddly wide. “I thought that it was-…that you were okay with-… I’m sorry, just please breathe for me. In and out, nice and slow.”

Newt’s head barely bobbed in something that could be called a nod but began to focus upon his breathing as he often did when the darkness came. He managed to slow it enough so that the light-headedness receded, but the trembling wouldn’t stop no matter how much he tried, he released the iron grip on his knees to draw the blanket closer around him. Newt didn’t feel cold, still flushed red and warm with the recent arousal but the shock and confusion had alleviated the more noticeable signs if the excitement of mere moments before. Beyond the uncertainty there was a vague, malleable sensation that clung onto the edges of his mind like moss to a stone wall – easy to remove from the surface but if left too long, bound to desiccate what lay beneath. The man who looked so much like Percival stayed exactly where he was, his breathing laboured sounding, the forming bruises darkening around his shoulders, collarbones and right arm where it had collided with the wall. He too was flushed, chest heaving slightly and eyes wide as he regarded Newt, the panic still present but softening into more gentle concern. Contrary to his usual issues, Newt couldn’t find it in himself to tear his eyes away from the eyes that belonged to Percival, searching for any misgivings or trace or a trick. He couldn’t find any but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. _Don’t look away. Not now._  

“Newt… whatever it was… whatever you saw or that I did… please just tell me.” His voice was low, rough and pleading and it made Newt flinch again, right hand twitching spasmodically under the blanket to grasp the silver lines of the wrist of the other. The coppery-blonde haired young man dug his nails into the flesh surrounding the metal-glass, gritting his teeth against the pain and the joint flashes of consciousness it caused to flare up. He had to know. Newt saw and felt the dual experiences of Albus’ presences still in the cottage where Credence was, cup of tea warming his hand, armchair soft beneath his legs as he regarded Credence reading silently in the chair across from him. He caught a glimpse of Tina entering the room, a tray laden with sandwiches in her hands as she approached both. Almost simultaneously Newt witnessed the dark walls and slightly damp smell of the cell in Nurmengard, feeling relief of a tainted sort flood through his veins as he felt the cold stone under his booted feet – or rather, Gellert’s.

It was proof enough that the wizard was still imprisoned but it left Newt in a dual state of relief and fear for what the highly disturbing flash of sight and smell had actually been. It had been so long since he had hallucinated anything and let alone anything like _that_ \- even so, it still hadn’t felt like the flashbacks – he had been so _sure_ of what had been in front of him even if it had been brief. Did this mean he wasn’t quite as recovered as he had thought? Was this some form of delayed madness? Or was it another trick of Gellert’s? Was he now able to get into Newt’s head even in his waking hours? Either thought was terrifying to consider in all honesty and Newt wasn’t sure which he preferred. That Gellert was violating him in yet another way or that he was simply going mad.   

“Newt, _please_ , say something.” Percival’s voice was pained beyond anything he’d heard before and Newt found his chin raising a little, eyes risking blinking, he opened his mouth to speak maybe twice before finding the words.

“I-I-… I saw… I’m sorry.” Percival looked mildly relieved at the sound of his voice, slightly choked though it was, Newt still found it difficult to know what to say; he didn’t want to articulate his fear lest it prove not to be Percival he was speaking to. It was silly really – even if this was really Percival, Newt was damn sure that Gellert would know exactly what he felt, if not through the bond then through the mental connection.

“It’s okay, just-… tell me what you’re seeing.” His eyes were soft even as his jaw clenched tighter “I can’t promise you that it’s not real, but I can’t be sure until you tell me.”

“I-… I don’t… it’s gone.”  Newt found himself mumbling, glancing about the room for the first time and feeling the coiled of tension within him release a little as he saw no more traces of Grindelwald’s likeness; the corner thankfully empty. It was just him and the man who was looking at him with such genuine concern.  _It’s not as if Gellert isn’t capable of emulating that or even really feeling it._ The not so comforting whispered words slid off the encroaching apathy Newt could feel like rain on Erumpent hide; a numbness that enshrouded him in an effort of protection. He didn’t flinch as Percival stood, slowly this time, watching the movements with slow interest whilst the Auror summoned his clothes to him and pulled on his trousers and shirt, fastening both loosely. Clearly covering himself enough so that Newt might feel less pressured, but Newt didn’t feel that any more, just sort of numb, he stretched out a hand towards his own clothing where it was strewn messily about the room. It moved to him sluggishly, as if his magic was just as shocked and numb as he was, he gripped the clothes quickly, pulling them on but doing so under the cover of the blanket as much as he was able. It was a little redundant he knew, but it further helped to calm him. Once he was dressed, Newt slid back off the desk, sending the blanket and a crumpled quill or two falling to the ground to join the other items that had been knocked off previously.                                    

Percival was sat again on the edge if the bed, gaze flitting from where it had been gazing out of the window in an apparent attempt to cater to Newt’s sudden feeling of vulnerability and fixed back on Newt’s eyes directly. Newt stood awkwardly in front of the desk, arms dangling at his sides and face slightly flushed with the strangeness of the sudden silence and the lack of any idea how to fill it. It felt as though any time Newt managed to find some semblance of normality, routine or comfort it was broken apart by one thing or another and this time proved to be no different. Except that it was. The hallucination, image or projection or whatever it had been still felt fresh in his senses in a way it hadn’t before, he felt as though there was something he was missing; the white flashes at the corners of his vision had him turning and flinching slightly as he tried to follow them; pinpoint them only for them to allude him. Percival stood after a while, when he seemed to realise that Newt was neither inclined to move or speak, stepping forward but not moving to touch him, just hovering a hand outstretched between them.  

“Was it him? Grindelwald?” Percival’s voice was harsh now, not demanding but not calm either and Newt nodded mutely, Percival sighed slightly, tilting his hand towards Newt from less of a handshake gesture to more of an open palmed offering. “Memory?”

“Not exactly…”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw him.”

Percival’s brows furrowed in consternation and further confusion “Please don’t tell me you fell asleep just now.”

Newt flushed “No, no, not like-… I mean… I saw his face when I opened my eyes… he was watching me…us… but I don’t think it was a memory or anything like that… I-… it felt more real, more alive than that… I don’t know…”

Percival looked even more troubled, hand slowly sliding back down to his side before jerking to stop hallway through the motion and running back through his mussed hair, smoothing it in the way he did when particularly agitated but trying not to show it. “You mean you thought I was him? I mean… that hasn’t happened in a long time… has it? Why now?”

“I… I don’t know.” Newt replied, albeit a bit weakly.

“You’re not seeing him now, are you?” Newt shook his head and Percival sighed again. “Was it like I changed into him or-”

“No, it was more like…” Newt waved a hand awkwardly, trying to find a way to describe what he had experienced. “It was like I could see him, smell him even directly in front of me… like he was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.” His eyes darted to the corner, but he forced them back to Percival’s face before the gesture could be noticed.  

“Right… and you’re sure that this couldn’t have been real? You said yourself that he’s been getting in your head, maybe this is another damn trick.”

“I… maybe, but I… when I touched the mark…” He said, holding up his scarred silver arm to illustrate his point “I saw him in his cell, he’s still trapped… I don’t think he could fake that even if he wanted to.”

“Are you sure, Newt? Because it isn’t like he hasn’t pulled off things thought to be impossible before. Like touching you in the first place.” Newt flinched slightly, rubbing a hand absently, worriedly over the marking through his shirt as he rolled down the sleeves over them.    

“I don’t know, alright!” He heard himself snap, voice high and rather strained and shook his head as if to clear it. “I don’t know what it was but…. It… it reminded me too much of the fact that I’m not safe inside my own head or that he knows practically everything there is that could trick me into thinking that he was you! I can’t stand the thought that he could just as well have escaped and that I could just have well have practically thrown myself at-” He cut himself off with a great heave of breath, snaking his arms around his chest, pressing tight and almost melting into the grip that Percival stepped forward to ensnare him in. He tensed at first, pressing his eyes tight shut against his better judgement but soon allowed himself to relax some of the tension, unpinning his arms from where they had been snagged between them and wrapping the loosely – cautiously - around Percival’s waist. _The corner is empty. He’s gone and you think you’re safe._      

Percival drew back in a seemingly forced gesture, keeping a tenuously light touch on Newt’s waist still with his palm, as if reassuring himself that Newt was still there and wasn’t going to flinch out of the grip. “Look, I’m sorry for pushing you, I don’t know how to handle this any better than you do and… it scares me seeing you like this.” He admitted it in a soft intonation that surprised Newt; he couldn’t remember the last time that Percival had admitted fear so openly or if it had even occurred, and it stung him to think that he was the source of such unusually open pain now. “I wish there was a way I could reassure you that Grindelwald can’t hurt you or that I could find a way to fix what he’s doing - what he’s already done – but I won’t lie to you like that.” He tilted his head, eyes wide and open, serious and a trace apologetic. “All I can promise it that I’ll do everything I can to make this easier for you. If you ever need to stop or slow down just tell me. If there’s anything that you see, hear or feel or even think you experience that leaves you in any doubt I want to know about it. I don’t care if you are worried about upsetting me with any of it – I want you to be honest with me, Newt. Please.”

Newt appreciated the lack of sugary, flowery, false promises and innocuous, bland placations that he would have likely got from anyone else; he loved that Percival was being as blunt as he could with him. Sugar coating never helped to make poison any less damaging and Newt found himself nodding fervently to the words, only pausing for a few moments before venturing forth the last lingering traces of doubt that resided within him. He had to dispel these thoughts and Gellert’s lingering influences upon him otherwise he knew they would only fester and cause much greater issues further down the line. Percival deserved better than Newt giving into his suspicions and Gellert’s poison words dripping in his ear. “Can you tell me something?

“Of course.” Was the ready answer and Newt swallowed slightly, ducking his head before meeting Percival’s gaze again and tracing those warm-whiskey eyes for any hint of deception or reservation.

“I know that you’ve been keeping things from me – about your work and Grindelwald and I understand that.” He said the second part quickly as Percival opened his mouth, whether to apologise or deny it Newt didn’t know but he pushed onwards before he could interrupt. “What happened to the fanatics who attacked me in February?”

Percival’s brows furrowed and his grip tightened ever so slightly on Newt’s waist. “What-?”

“Scadrian, Abernathy and Liza I believe their names were.” Newt said calmly, Percival paused before taking a deep breath and meeting his eyes head on.    

“Abernathy is currently residing in the higher security cells where he belongs, alongside Vinda Rosier ands a dozen or more of the fanatics we’ve apprehended.”

“And the other two?” Newt asked, seeing through the obvious avoidance of their fates and feeling a clenching sensation in his gut.

“They were killed in their cells before I got the chance to question them.”

The clenching sensation tightened “And you didn’t think I should know about it?”

“We didn’t want to worry you further… you were in a… bad way then, Newt and-” 

“I’m not a child, Percival, I don’t appreciate all of you tiptoeing around me like this. How did they die?”

He looked pained as he answered, “Their throats were slit – severing charms by the looks of it.”

Newt regarded him with a hard expression, knowing that there was more to it than he was admitting, and Percival soon relented. “We are as sure as we can be that they were killed by a fellow fanatic – they had a warning carved into each of their chests ‘Perfidy through presumption’. We believe it’s what caused the lull in Grindelwald’s followers’ activity for a few months afterwards. We still haven’t found out who did it or how and its why all of the Ministries have been clamping down on the security measures.”

Newt felt odd shooting sensations go through him at the quoted words – they sounded oddly familiar, though he couldn’t place having heard them before but despite that uncertainty he knew for certain that they were Gellert’s. Only he would have had the audacity, cruelty and possessiveness to have such words carved into the chests of the followers that had attacked Newt without his permission. He knew exactly what kind of twisted thinking that would have likely occurred within Gellert’s demented mind to carry out such a thing. While it disturbed him, at this point he honestly couldn’t find it in himself to be all that shocked – it had been clear to him for a long time now Gellert was still enacting his will despite his imprisonment. However, this was also irrefutable proof that the actions were not simply contingency plans – he had learnt of what had happened and reacted to it alarmingly quickly. Percival was looking at him carefully, a hand on his right arm, thumb gently rubbing at his elbow through his shirt in soothing motions, but Newt found that he felt surprisingly calm, as if the numbness had not yet receded.

“You still should have told me, Percy. Don’t you think I have the right to know if Gellert is ordering the brutal murders of his followers because of me?”

Dark brows crumpled and lips thinned in apparent frustration “Maybe, but damn it, Newt-…it’s not your fault those obsessive morons attacked you or that they died.”

Newt fixed him with a semi-distant reproving look at the coarse words “I’m not saying it’s my fault; I’m just pointing out that they are dead because of Gellert’s… fixation on me. They may not have been good people, but they didn’t deserve to die like that. No one does.”

“Is that why you stuck up for Abernathy? Risked your damn life for someone who isn’t worth even a scratch on your hide.”

Newt blinked, a little non-plussed but shrugged, rolling his shoulders a bit with the movement “I suppose so, killing people just for a difference of opinion isn’t right – they’re doing what they believe to be right just as you are.”

Percival paled then, the final vestiges of flush leaving his face “What’s that supposed to mean? They torture people, Newt. They kill without discretion or mercy… is that what you think I do? What you think I _am_?”     

“No, I don’t think that of you, I’m just… I know that your job entails more than you tell me; more than you want to admit to yourself and dehumanising those you fight against is only a step closer to doing what they do.” The words flowed from Newt’s tongue hurriedly, escaping in a flow of what he had long considered but not brought up in wake for his love for Percival. He knew that Percival was a good man but like all good men who became obsessed with a righteous path, they could get lost on the way and start finding excuses for things that had none. Newt had long ago come to terms with the implications of his brother’s job as an Auror and that while he may not approve of the Ministry’s methods, he knew it was likely better than the alternative, even if he bent and broke the rules regularly when it came to creatures. Those who were vulnerable and classed as nonentities - dangerous beasts drew his more rebellious side that flouted the laws to defend them. He understood that many of the laws concerning more human activities were more necessary and respected Tina, Theseus and Percival for upholding them and defending people when they could. Newt knew that Percival was the sort of man who would always try to do the right thing and respected him all the more for it, but it didn’t mean that he could always overlook his attitudes towards those who represented a change in the ministerial regime.   

He felt guilt eat a little at him at the barely repressed distraught look on Percival’s face but knew he had to voice his concerns – be honest to clear the air of Gellert’s insidious words and his own lingering fears. “I know you will always mean to do what’s right, Percy – I don’t doubt that, but I can’t trust you explicitly if you purposefully keep important things from me like this.”

“That….” He swallowed, clearing his throat slightly and meeting Newt’s gaze with hard, direct eyes “That’s a sensible attitude to take, Newt. I’m sorry for agreeing to keep it from you. You are more than capable of handling this.”

Newt nodded a bit jerkily before stepping back from Percival - not feeling the need to do so necessarily but still wanting to get some space after all the… muddle. Percival’s expression seemed to purposefully diminish then, though Newt could tell that he was still concerned but was attempting to contain it, instead, he briefly squeezed Newt’s arm before speaking in a forcibly normal, even if a bit too low voice. “I’m going to attempt to scrounge together something in your kitchen that might resemble an actual meal. Hungry?”         

Newt nodded absently though was struck by the odd offer – Percival wasn’t usually any more one for remembering meals than he was and distinctly remembered Percival telling him that he rather rubbish at it. Half-recalling a story about him nearly burning down his family home as a child when their House-Elf was too ill to cook for him and his mother; the rather memorable detail about that story apart from the resurgence of House-Elf treatment issues was that the eight year old Percival had only been making a sandwich. He found a small, fond smile grace his lips but watched until Percival was out of the room and into the corridor before grabbing his coat up from the floor, withdrawing his wand and flicking it after the Auror’s retreating back. Newt tried deliberately to make the magic as subtle as possible, but he still saw Percival’s shoulders tense slightly as he descended the stairs, he paused for a brief second before carrying on. Newt released a sigh of relief as the man’s appearance did not change after the casting of the _Revelio_ charm. Even if Percival noticed it, which Newt was fairly sure he did, the older man neither called him out on it or changed in the slightest as he disappeared from view. In fact, Newt could have sworn that he paused a fraction longer than was necessary – as if to show Newt the lack of change and he appreciated it. 

He had to be sure.     

Feeling oddly deflated, Newt waved his wand at the general mess of the room; repairing the broken quills, crumpled parchment, the previously unnoticed shattered inkwell that scattered the floor about the desk. The dent in the wall smoothing over and plaster dust and fragments vanishing from his bed, the clothes strewn about folding and draping themselves over the end of his bed too. There was a light clatter of wood on wood as his coat floated over to the bedrail and Newt frowned, leaning down to where something had rolled beneath the bed and freezing on his knees when he saw the bleached, Sigil-inscribed handle of a wand. The Elder Wand.

Newt reached out for it with a trembling hand, rolling it over in his fingers, confusing rolling off him in waves as he examined the ancient wood, feeling an odd cold feeling seeping back into him from it in turn. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant – more cool than cold in fact, and while not feeling soothing in his hand exactly, it still seemed to exude a sense of calm confidence that contrasted with the usually off feeling of a stranger’s wand. He knew that the wand didn’t belong to him – neither in rite of wandlore passage nor the Elder Wand’s more specifically bloody history but he couldn’t help but feel as if it somehow fit in his grip almost as well as his own wand did. Newt dropped it hastily, discarding it onto the bedcovers and standing abruptly, staring down in fascination, mental muddle and dismay at the simple seeming object.

How in the name of Paracelsus did he get this? Sure, he remembered seeing it sticking out of Dumbledore’s coat pocket but at no point did he recall touching the garment or taking the wand. Albus would surely have noticed its absence – weren’t there protections and wardings he would have likely placed upon it to prevent just anyone from taking it? There was no doubt in Newt’s mind that this was the Elder Wand, he had seen and felt enough of its power in person to not mistake it and a quick wave of his hand over its surface resulted in no changes. How and why did he have it? The only time he could think of that it was even remotely possible he could have done such a thing was when he was taking the Phoenix inside the cottage. He had admittedly been in a bit of haze of awe and concern for the creature but even so, surely, he couldn’t and wouldn’t have been able to steal the wand in the maybe a minute or so before Dumbledore, Credence and Tina came inside after him. Newt _had_ been entirely focussed on the Phoenix, but _surely_ he would remember stealing the most powerful wand in history.    

He supposed that it was a possibility that Dumbledore could have slipped it into his pocket at some point, but he couldn’t fathom why he would do such a thing or why he would fail to mention it to Newt. Newt regarded it where it lay on his old chequered blanket for some time, unsure of how to process its appearance or the potential consequences – the only thing he could think to do was contact Albus and return it to him as soon as possible. Though what if it had been Albus who had put it in his coat pocket and hadn’t told him for a specific reason? There was the possibility, he supposed, that Dumbledore could have done it an attempt to keep the wand safe as no one would suspect Newt to have it. Or perhaps he had become aware of the corrupting influence it might have on him – it was admittedly strange that he had allowed the Elder Wand to poke so plainly out of his coat pocket after all. The young magizoologist found himself wishing that Dumbledore was as blunt and straightforward as Percival was - that he could explain his actions so Newt couldn’t be placed in such a deliberating position.   

He started when he heard Percival’s voice call from downstairs then and guessed that more time must’ve passed than he had realised, quickly grabbing the wand, looking about uncertainly for a few moments before stashing it back in his coat pocket. If there was a reason for Dumbledore to have put it there, he trusted him to know his own mind and reasoning, deciding that it was an issue best left for a time when he didn’t have an already wary and highly strung Auror in his house who had a personal vendetta against Albus. Newt descended the stairs, following the sickly sweet but equally delicious smells of honey and cinnamon, emerging into the kitchen with some bemusement to see two bowls of what looked to be porridge. He raised a sceptical eyebrow at Percival who looked amusingly proud of himself and shrugged faux-humbly at the questioning expression.

“Queenie gave me recipe that even I would be able to make.”

“Smells good.”

“Glad you think so – used up the last of the ingredients in your kitchen to make it.”

Newt nodded absently, making a mental note to restock his cupboards with oats, cinnamon and honey the next time he was out and moving to sit at the table opposite where Percival had settled. He picked up a spoon a began idly scooping in mouthfuls of the sticky, slightly too thick substance and sending a brief, appreciative smile over to Percival who was watching him carefully over his own bowl. “Not too much honey?”

“S’good.” Newt mumbled, quickly swallowing the scorching mouthful and ducking his gaze back to the bowl as his mind kept on wandering back upstairs to where the Elder Wand currently, inexplicably resided. Very deliberately _not_ considering what else had or had not resided in the room not too long ago. He felt an awkward silence pervading the air between them at the abrupt shift in tone that the two had experienced over the past hour – from tired conversation, to awe and argument over the Phoenix, to heated passion and then the subsequent terror and confusion that followed.  

“Got another letter from my mother today – she’s threatening to visit.” Percival commented in an obvious attempt to break the tense silence that had fallen, and Newt glanced up in interest.

“When was the last time she did that? I can’t remember you ever mentioning her visits.”

“She doesn’t usually but she seemed rather keen on meeting ‘the young man who has so completely ensnared my attentions’ – her words not mine.” He smiled and flashed Newt a brief wink over his spoon as the young magizoologist choked slightly on his food. “Though I can’t really deny their accuracy.”  

Eyes watering slightly as he hastily swallowed down the burning lump of porridge that had almost gone down the wrong pipe he asked “So, uh, what did you tell her?”

“Nothing yet.” Percival told him, looking somewhere between amused and resigned. “Though I think if I continue to ignore her letters she may follow through on her threat and invade my apartment.”

“What are you going to do then?”

“Well, my first thought was moving to Deepest, darkest Peru but I doubt that would make a difference – she has an uncanny knack for tracking me down wherever I am after all.” His tone was light, and Newt chuckled a little in response to the dramatic eyeroll before Percival’s expression turned speculative. “But then again, if you had no problems with it, I suppose you could actually meet her.”

Newt blanched slightly and tilted his head as if in consideration “Will she um… approve of me do you expect? What with me being… well…”

“A man? British? Not of a snobby pureblood family?”

“Well yes, all of the above really and because well… I’m not exactly normal, am I?”

“You’ll have to be more specific there, Newt.” His tone was soft, a bit teasing but kind, nonetheless.

“I’ve never been particularly good with people and well… especially not now with all the… stuff going on with Gellert and Albus and Credence. Not to mention my creatures.”   

“Honestly, if ma ever expected me to settle down with someone who was dull as dishwater and as thick as a broom handle, I think she long ago gave up on it – you’re talented, compassionate, intelligent and frankly quite adorable.”

Newt flushed and shifted awkwardly in his seat “Percival, be serious here – I’m bound to worry her more about your welfare rather than put any of those fears to rest.”

“Maybe, but I still would like her to meet you.”

Newt cocked his head, spoon drooping in his grip to rest back in his nearly empty bowl. “Why?”

Percival seemed to consider this for a moment before responding in a genuinely soft sounding voice “Because you’re important to me, Newt, and I would like for you to see the parts of my life that I have perhaps been a bit… cagey on in the past.”

“Really?” Newt asked, more out of reflex than sincere doubt and Percival nodded, keeping his gaze steadily. Newt considered the offer for some time, scraping up the last of his porridge before standing with the bowl and moving over to the sink. “Then I guess my answer would be yes.”

“You’re sure?” Percival asked, finishing his own meal as he waited for Newt’s response. The young magizoologist rinsed the bowl and spoon out under the taps, rubbing at the chipped ceramic idly with a thumb to remove the more stubborn elements of honey and lumps of porridge.  

“Wouldn’t have said so, otherwise would I?” He said, muting a smile as he reflected his earlier words to Credence and remembering the surprised look that it had prompted to the young American’s face – a similar one to the one on Percival’s face now in fact. 

“Unlike seemingly nearly everyone else in your life right now, I don’t make a habit of exploring your inner most workings, Newt.” The comment was made with dry, slightly brittle humour and Newt huffed out a brief laugh, waving a hand at Percival’s empty dish to hover over under the tap too and began work on it as well.

He glanced back over his shoulder then and met Percival’s eyes “Well if you’re teaching me Occlumency that may well change won’t it?”

“Point.” Percival stood, pushing his chair back a little and prompting Newt to turn to face him with a gentle hand on his arm. “In light of recent events, would you like to perhaps start the exercises sooner than planned?”

Newt nodded ardently though still felt hesitant at the thought of allowing anyone into his head, let alone his partner but felt the eagerness to potentially prevent what had happened upstairs from happening again if he could help it. Percival nodded too, stepping back and jerking his head towards the living room. “It’ll probably be easier if we both sit down somewhere comfortable for this.”

“I know.” Newt replied, following Percival’s lead as he went to plant himself upon the old sofa in the next room “I have tried this before, remember? Used to sit in Dumbledore’s armchair in his office to do this, but as you know it was never particularly successful. Apparently, I kept on drifting off topic and any prompting about creatures would completely derail my concentration.” He laughed lowly under his breath if a tad regretfully.

“I’ll bet.” Percival grumbled but quickly adopted a calmer demeanour – the sort that Newt imagined he might take with victims or witnesses to put them at ease, eyes guarded and posture tension-free. Non-threatening but clearly in charge. Newt sat as straight as he could against the cushions and Percival waved his hand at the armchair in the corner, summoning it to settle directly in front of where Newt sat though clucking his tongue slightly as the movement caused the wooden legs to creak alarmingly. Like a lot of the furnishings in Newt’s home, it had seen better days due to it not having been new when he moved in, as well as the attentions of many different creatures – mainly the Nifflers. Percival reinforced it a flick of his wand which he had withdrawn before settling in it and leaning forward, meeting Newt’s apprehensive eyes with solemn, open ones.

“I’m assuming that you know the techniques involved but it doesn’t hurt to remind you of them. I’m going to attempt to enter your mind and you need to conjure up defences to prevent me from doing so. Creating a full mental block is difficult to do so usually the best way to start is to divert the person trying to access your mind away to other memories – harmless ones that won’t give them any leeway or what they’re after in the first place.” Percival seemed satisfied as Newt nodded his understanding mutely, feeling nervous about the whole endeavour but still recognising its necessity. “I’ll try to be careful with the memories I seek out but remember that anything either of us is pondering – subconsciously or not, is likely to have an effect on what gets picked up.” Again, Newt nodded, remembering the awkward confidences Dumbledore had caught of Newt’s personal life and a few of the glimpses he had received in return all those years ago.

Percival raised his wand towards Newt’s temple, gently brushing his fringe out of the way to rest the tip on his forehead and Newt had to fight not to flinch away as he was reminded of the time Gellert had performed a similar gesture when he had been in the cell in the Ministry depths. When he had temporarily blocked out Newt’s thoughts from anyone who might have gone searching them out after Queenie had. “Have you got a memory in mind to try to block me with?” Percival asked and Newt quickly cast about for something easy and innocent to distract the Auror’s attention; eventually deciding on an image of the eldest Niffler when he had frozen in the most ridiculous attempt to imitate a display in the jewellery shop. The image was humorous and non-invasive in its nature so Newt supposed that it would do for the purposes of the exercise. He couldn’t help but feel curious as to which memories Percival would attempt to access but supposed that the ambiguity would likely emulate a more realistic set of circumstances with which to practice. After all, Gellert very rarely made Newt aware of when or why he was going to search through his mind.

The initial intrusion was like a cool wind blowing through his surface thoughts, registering the uppermost emotions with competent, almost clinical efficiency that felt practised, but Newt slipped his eyes closed nonetheless to focus better. Despite having the Niffler image fresh and ready at hand, attempting to project it above all other reminiscences he knew almost instantly that it hadn’t worked as well as he had hoped. The first memory to be dredged up was that of the day of Queenie and Jacob’s wedding – when he and Percival had been down in the case together and as embarrassing as the recollections were, he still respected Percival for bringing up something that he was already at least partly aware of; an easy start as it were. He tried to push forward the Niffler image again, but it got side-tracked and caught back into the memory Percival was investigating as it too contained Nifflers. Feeling wrong-footed, Newt attempted to search up a new image to focus upon but with Percival already being inside his mind at this point it led to a spiralling tunnel of memories being swirled together around them both. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Having not needed to resort to Legilimency for some time, it was admittedly more than a little odd to do so now – let alone doing so with the man he loved. Newt’s mind was decidedly more ordered than his often erratic and scattered behaviour might’ve suggested, it felt as though he had made efforts to collect himself much more forcefully than others did and Percival could only assume that it was in response to the repeated attacks that he had been subjected to. It felt as though there were ragtag defences drawn up simply by shutting out as much as he could – a levee to hold in the innermost thoughts but also to prevent them from overwhelming him. It seemed that he resided predominantly in a delved out little space between what threatened to crush him and what he was attempting to keep out. It was overwhelming to experience from even an outsider view, but Percival forced himself to put aside the unique and honestly heart-breaking nature of Newt’s existence within his own mind and instead focussed upon what he was there to do. If there was any way that he could make Newt’s life easier by teaching him to defend himself properly against Grindelwald, then he was damn well going to do it.

Percival saw the image that Newt tried to use to block him and though it was amusing and perhaps might’ve been enough to distract another, it didn’t deter him, and he doubted that it would do so Grindelwald either. Knowing that taking a softer approach would not benefit his education as it would just give Newt an unrealistic anticipation of what to expect he pushed past the memory and sought out one that they at leas partially shared. Their meeting at the wedding was steeped in fondness and a strong touch of embarrassment from Newt’s point of view as Percival witnessed seeing himself from Newt’s point of view – feeling mildly amused and surprised as he realised Newt had felt decidedly awkward and was aware of the connotations of being on his knees in front of the Auror when he first noticed him were. Despite the young Magizoologist’s apparent previous innocence to such things he had definitely been more aware and distracted by Percival’s subtler forms of flirting even if he hadn’t admitted it.

Unfortunately everything suddenly became a lot more difficult to control when Newt attempted to dredge up a new memory with which to defend himself – it caught both of them up into a whirl of different memories and despite Newt’s attempts to draw them back in, Percival was soon witnessing a cavalcade of different reminiscences. Many of them were fairly innocuous; ones that Newt deemed to be good potential for defence – casual moments with his creatures or everyday tasks. He saw flashes of the case, the enclosures, a multitude of different creature’s faces and forms mixed in alongside the commonplace tasks of caring for them. But there were other memories too; many including himself and those were doused in affection, passion and worryingly often with traces of guilt or distress. The older memories – ones from when they had been in the clinic in Austria were tainted heavily with that confusion, the uncertainty and the fear of misperception and though it came as no particular surprise to Percival it still pained him to realise the difficulties he had caused the younger man’s recovery. When Percival had left, he felt Newt’s sense of abandonment and felt guilt eat further at him even if the following memories indicated that he had recovered better without Percival’s constant presence and with aid from Dumbledore and Theseus.

The views of Dumbledore were odd to witness as well; though not doused with as much fondness as Percival might’ve expected they still held a nostalgic, respectful sort of glow – no veining of passion as the memories of Percival were. It was simply a relationship built upon the ease of years of mutual respect and the nostalgia of Newt’s fond remembrances of Hogwarts. It put aside a little of Percival’s jealousy that he admittedly had been experiencing to see this for himself and whilst he still purposefully pulled away from the thoughts, he didn’t quite regret having been drawn to them in the first place.

Newt seemed to find a new footing then and pressed back against the tide with a fresh image – this time one unfamiliar to Percival, if it weren’t for the extremely noticeable Scamander blue-green eyes and the coppery mop of curls, Percival might not have been able to recognise the boy perched upon a treetop in a dark, shaded forest. Newt looked to be perhaps eleven or twelve years old, round faced and gangly looking, so he supposed it must’ve been a memory from his time at Hogwarts and from the descriptions of his multiple excursions into the Forbidden Forest, Percival guessed this must be one of them. The memory was firmer than that of the Niffler and whilst it was a simple one, merely consisting of the sights and sounds of the forest – creaking branches, a brisk Autumnal breeze, snuffles of nearby unseen creatures on the ground below and the occasional hum from Newt as he sat sketching upon his perch. It seemed to work better as a barrier as the wistfulness surrounding it allowed Newt to focus more singularly upon it, however Percival was discouraged to find that it still caved after he applied more pressure upon it and off they went again into the deeper reminiscences.

This time Newt seemed to be slightly more in control of the stream than he had been before - pushing back a little more forcefully than before and it gratified Percival to have to actually work to keep on digging. He knew that the best way to do this was to keep on pushing until Newt managed to block him out fully, as much as he disliked the idea of distressing Newt he knew that as much as he was loath to admit – Grindelwald was stronger than him so likely would be able to push a lot harder than Percival would. To better prepare Newt, he couldn’t hold back as much as he wanted to. Out of both a need to get a more dramatic reaction from Newt in the hopes of getting the defences up more strongly and out of his own morbid, concerned curiosity he sought out the memories of Grindelwald’s invasions into Newt’s sleep. He hoped it would shock Newt into more vehement action but felt a shock shoot through him instead when he was suddenly thrown out of Newt’s mind with violent force. Percival opened his eyes, blinking rapidly and regarding Newt who was breathing heavily, eyes flickering open and looking just as utterly bewildered as Percival felt.

“How did you do that?” Percival gasped out, rubbing a hand to his temple where a fierce ache resided, both from the effort and concentration of the sustained spell and his sudden, forceful expulsion. Newt looked at him numbly, brushing his slightly sweaty fringe away from his head and shaking it a little as if to clear away the sensations and shock.

“I…I didn’t.”

Percival’s brows creased as he realised what that likely meant “Grindelwald has been in your head again, putting up defences of his own so that no one else can see what goes on between you.”    

Newt’s expression crumpled a little into an irritable though not entirely unsurprised frown, leaning forward with elbows propped up on his knees and one hand rubbing at his eyes almost aggressively. “Most likely.”

“You don’t seem all that surprised.” Percival commented in a near monotone and Newt shrugged a little, eyes pressed closed as he continued to rub his temples with a thumb and forefinger.

“At this point, no, not particularly. He went into my head before to stop Queenie from contacting me so I suppose it would make sense to him to do something similar with the… dreams.” He seemed hesitant with the last word, clearly unsure of how to label his night time experiences and Percival nodded shortly.

“Right, so it seems that those memories are off limits then. Sorry about that, I just thought I’d try something a bit more… dramatic to provoke you into getting your defences up. You were doing better with that second memory though, try it again next time but try to focus more strongly on the details – anything and everything you can remember, and it might work better.” He paused, waiting for Newt’s eyes to open again before asking “That was from your time at Hogwarts, right? The Forbidden Forest?”

“Yeah, my second year, went out there to sketch a lot. Was more peaceful in the forest than anywhere else.”

“That may have been because it was filled with dangerous magical creatures that probably shouldn’t have been kept anywhere near a school?” Percival suggested wryly and had to repress a chuckle at the indignant expression that sprung to Newt’s face.

“None of them would’ve hurt anyone as long as they stayed away from their homes. They pretty much let me come and go as I pleased. Even the Centaur herd agreed to move their hunts deeper into the forest so that they wouldn’t risk hurting the Thestrals. They had a bit of an animosity going on for a while cause the Thestrals were obedient to the groundskeeper and if you know anything about Centaurs…well.” Newt trailed off with slight chuckle and looked up at Percival through long lashes, smiling sheepishly as he seemed to realise that he had gone off on a bit of a tangent. “Anyway, its not like your school didn’t keep creatures on your grounds is it? From what I’ve heard of Ilvermorny they keep Wampus’ and a Thunderbird there.”

Percival smirked slightly at the tone of awe and nodded “Yes, but that because of the house names mainly I believe, they were kept very carefully supervised and definitely weren’t allowed to wander about the grounds openly.”

“But Thunderbirds need to be allowed to roam free – its cruel to pretend otherwise. Though I can understand why they might be stricter on the limitations concerning a Wampus cat as they are capable of both Legilimency and hypnosis so are decidedly more difficult to handle than your average beast.” Newt looked pained and Percival tilted his head in consideration for the other’s greater knowledge on such things.

“I think they were more concerned for the symbolic purposes rather than any practicality.”

Newt nodded, if a bit absently and Percival couldn’t help but get the sinking feeling that Newt might be at that very moment plotting a way to free the beasts of Ilvermorny so hastily distracted him by changing the topic. “Do you want to try again?”

Newt blinked, looking suddenly hesitant “Could we try again another time? When my brain is a bit less… scattered?” Thinking back to the inexplicable and troubling events of earlier, Percival understood his meaning without having to ask for clarification and nodded, resting a hand briefly on Newt’s knee.

“Sure, I’ll admit that it’s left me a bit tired to be honest – been a while since I’ve had to do this after all.” It was true, the day had been rather long and the mental exercises certainly hadn’t helped with the draining effect, not to mention that despite his subtler workings of healing spells he’d performed on himself whilst Newt was still upstairs, his back and shoulders still ached from their collision with the wall. The blow had been a definite shock, but he didn’t feel the need to hold any blame towards Newt for it – he knew it hadn’t been a deliberate attack and that had he been in the younger man’s situation he would’ve done the same. Seeing Grindelwald in any form – real or not in that sort of situation and with the past deceptions would’ve freaked just about anyone out. The silver magic - whatever it was – was admittedly difficult to come to terms with but he supposed that he should feel glad that no fire was involved this time as Newt seemed to have wrested some control of it.

He watched as Newt stood, pacing his way about for a while before leaving the room and moments later he heard the cellar door open and close, indicating that Newt had descended in order to check upon the creatures. It wasn’t uncommon for Newt to do so whenever he was stressed or upset and after the day’s events… well he could definitely understand why Newt might want some time to himself.  Percival wished that there was something he could do to put Newt at ease – make him forget about everything that was troubling him, but he knew that sometimes it was just better to allow him some privacy. Morgana only knew that the poor man didn’t get it in his sleep. He resented being so helpless to do anything about the continued suffering of his partner and whilst he somewhat relished the potential for at least trying to assist him through the Occlumency he didn’t feel it was fair on Newt to be tested over and over by him on top of every other challenge he was experiencing.

The agreeance Newt had made over meeting his family had been both a surprise and an odd sort of relief as he knew his mother was tenacious enough to come hunting down Percival and demanding to meet him in person should he refuse or ignore her requests. He was rather apprehensive over the potential callousness his family could be capable of, but he had also not been lying when he told Newt he wanted him to be a part of more aspects of his life. The fact that he couldn’t share all his work life with Newt was enough to have already created a slight rift between them and introducing Newt to his family seemed like a good way of making Newt feel more included in his life. It had been a reluctant decision to tell Newt of the fate of those that had attacked him, but he was also somewhat relieved that his reaction had been so reasonable, though not suspiciously so. Seeing how accustomed Newt was to Grindelwald’s continually psychotic and obsessive behaviours was a new depth of worry in itself but yet again, there was little he could do to prevent it and he now realised that keeping such things from him would only lead to rifts, secrecy and suspicions further down the line.  

Percival found himself almost drifting off to sleep in the armchair in his lengthy contemplation and tired state so had to shake the lethargy away, deciding that it might be best to return to his own apartment for this evening at least so that Newt might have some time to himself. Percival moved first to the cellar door so that he could bid Newt farewell before he left and hastened down the steps, looking about for his partner as he went. He found Newt, quite predictably in one of the lower levels’ enclosures - the one where the Zouwu resided and at first Percival was concerned that creature had harmed him as he was sat slumped against the large feline. But then he noticed that Newt looked perfectly unscathed and was breathing deep and even, the Zouwu curled around him in a distinctly protective manner and Percival realised with a combined twinge of relief and trepidation that Newt was merely asleep. The trepidation stemmed from the concern for what Newt was currently experiencing but as he was still visible to Percival, the Auror supposed that at least he was in no physical danger this time.

Seeing Newt disappear from beside him before had been alarming but watching the younger sleep – even in such a ridiculous place – was comforting now to witness. The Zouwu regarded Percival with large, cautious, challenging eyes and he decided that Newt was likely safe enough with the creature, even if it did seem an odd place to take a nap. Glancing about, Percival summoned over a tattered looking blanket from where it hung over a fence and floated it to rest over the young magizoologist, even if it prompted an odd look from Henry, Newt seemed to relax a little into the warmth it provided. There was a part of him that was tempted to watch over Newt for as long as he slept but knew that as well as not being practical it would also likely result in him falling asleep and probably being eaten or trampled by something that would take offense to his presence. He needed a good night’s sleep almost as much as Newt did, so instead of attempting to wake Newt – often a futile endeavour – he conjured parchment and a pen, quickly scrawling a note explaining his absence and left it tacked to the stone wall framing off one side of the enclosure.

With that, Percival left via the Floo-connection to return to his empty apartment, only to not find it as empty as he hoped.               

**A/N -eek, sorry?**


	24. Chapter 24

**“Where do you run to? Can you hide behind the sun? And you hide there with your demons and you wait for night to come.**

**...but you always get your way, something tells me that this was all arranged, you tricked me once again...**

**Do you really want to drag me down and take me to the gates of hell?**

**...But look at me now, I'm half the prisoner, half the man, this life is resting in your hands” – ‘Dancing with the Devil’ – Wolfgang**

**“I'm pleading, "Please, oh please!" on my knees repeatedly asking why it's got to be like this, is this living free?...**

**I'll stay awake cause the dark's not taking prisoners tonight, why am I not scared in the morning? I don't hear those voices calling, I must have kicked them out, I must have kicked them out, I swear I heard demons yelling, those crazy words they were spelling, they told me I was gone, they told me I was gone.**

**But I tell 'em, why won't you let me go, do I threaten all your plans? I'm insignificant, please tell 'em, you have no plans for me, I will set my soul on fire, what have I become? I'm sorry.” – ‘Ode to Sleep’ – Twenty-One Pilots**

When Newt fell through the ceiling of the cell in Nurmengard this time it came as an unexpected, decidedly horrible lurch, not only due to the prospect of facing Gellert once again so soon after the image of him had invaded his senses but also because he had no idea why it was happening _now_. One moment he had been feeling perfectly fine in terms of tiredness – a little hazy and headachy from the Occlumency perhaps but overall not much worse off than usual and the next he had been collapsing in a heap. He barely registered a huge furry weight moving lightning fast up against him before he hit the ground but was out cold mere seconds later and falling into the familiar cold box of dark stone. Glad that he at least had clothes on this time around, Newt decided that it could’ve been much worse even as he hit the stone at a more dramatic pace than usual, thumping down on his side on the ground. He scrambled up, boots sliding a little on the dark slabs but as he couldn’t quite feel the cold as he usually might, Newt got the feeling that he wasn’t here quite as physically as he had been previously.

“How did you do that?” The question left his lips before he had even properly focussed upon Gellert’s form sitting in a disconcertingly familiar positioning to how he had last seen him – imagined or not - in the corner of the cell. Thankfully there was no trace of the disturbing lust or inappropriate motions towards…um self-stimulation that he had seen and forced himself to not think of it as he risked a glance at Gellert’s oddly amused expression.

“Do what, Liebling?” his tone was calm, and deceptively humouring, enough so that Newt instantly felt suspicion creep further into him and shifted a little awkwardly on his feet in response.  

“You know what… I wasn’t asleep- not even close and now I’m…” Newt trailed off as Gellert’s smirk widened infinitesimally at his attempt to articulate his puzzlement but also, he felt, at his particular avoidance of his earlier distress. Even if the… images were entirely imagined he still would’ve sensed the pressure Newt put upon the bond when he touched the markings, as well as the spike in shock and fear. Grindelwald was baiting him. _Again._    

“I did warn you on a number of occasions to take better care of yourself, Newt, it’s no fault of mine if you have been neglecting proper rest.”

Newt didn’t grace that level of caustic response with a verbal one of his own, merely fixing him with an incredulous stare, swiping a hand absently through his fringe where it had again fallen into his eyes. Gellert sighed theatrically after a few moments and shook his head, crossing his legs across one another with a creaking of leather, though Newt noticed that his usual coat was folded and tucked neatly beneath him. He instead sat jarringly resplendent in collar and cuffs, dark brocade waistcoat and white flared collar open, high-waisted trousers barely creased and the whole image offset bizarrely by his role as a supposed prisoner in a dank stone cell. Newt was almost tempted to ask why or how he was still dressed to the nines in a cell with no aid of magic or any apparent wardrobe accoutrements but honestly couldn’t bring it in himself to fuel the smug bugger’s vanity or sense of superiority any further.

“I’ll admit that I did wish to speak with you with some degree of urgency more than my patience usually allows.” Gellert commented and Newt raised an eyebrow but refused to vocalise his sustained confusion, knowing that he would likely continue regardless. “I was wondering what you would do should you be given the opportunity to obtain almost limitless power?”

“What?” Newt blurted before he could stop himself, realising almost immediately just what Gellert was likely referring to – the Elder Wand – but he couldn’t guess how he would’ve known about it so quickly or why he seemed so calm about it. He would’ve expected the dark wizard to be eager or practically incensed by the potential of getting the wand away from Dumbledore. Even if he couldn’t touch Newt due to the new restrictions surrounding him, the young magizoologist wasn’t fool enough to assume that he wouldn’t be able to touch physical objects that Newt brought with him. He found himself relieved that the wand currently resided in his coat which was thankfully nowhere near him but also felt a simultaneous jolt of apprehension as he realised that with Gellert’s newfound ability to apparently make him sleep at will, he could get his hands on it anytime Newt held it again. If only he had just returned it to Albus and put aside his doubt and confusion immediately to avoid this.

This all occurred to him in a matter of seconds and when he risked another direct glance at Gellert’s corner he saw that the older man was now standing, hands clasped loosely behind him as he took a step forward. His expression was light and even relaxed. “The Elder Wand of course; I know that you don’t currently hold it, but I was curious to discover what you might do should you have actually gained the right to its full potential? Perhaps go on some sort of crusade for the rights of your dear creatures? Search out all the nasty poachers and hunters of the world and free the abused beasts from their clutches? Make them pay for their crimes.” His tone was mildly mocking but also laced with genuine curiosity and it sent a shudder up Newt’s spine that he couldn’t quite trace the origin of. Sweat was prickling along the back of his neck in thin, cold rivulets that traced their way down his spine beneath his shirt, almost like the caress of tiny, unwelcome fingers.   

“No, I wouldn’t do anything of the sort.”

Gellert’s pale brows rose sceptically “And why not? You can’t say that you believe their actions to be justified or that you haven’t fought against their like before – we both know that’s not true.”

“Wrong or not, power like that isn’t meant to be abused and the tole it would require isn’t one that I believe is worth taking.”

“Death is not a necessity for the acquisition or use of the Elder Wand, Newt, surely you know this.” The inquisitiveness seemed to have overridden the humour now as he took another step forward, Newt standing his ground but not meeting the other’s direct gaze – partly due to natural deference and partly for fear of the recent memories or delusions it might incur the recurrence of. “You can obtain it merely by disarming the holder. Think of the good you could achieve with such an instrument.”

Newt shook his head, refusing to be dragged into hypotheticals that clearly interested him much more than they did Newt. Whilst the potential for good the Elder Wand held was tempting in a way, there was no way that he would trust himself or anyone with the equal potential for corruption that intrinsically came with such power. The use of brute force or magical manipulation was something he had far too much experience with to consider using it on anyone else – even in the name of helping creatures who sorely needed it. The only way to truly ensure the ending of abuse and disregard of magical creatures was to convince wizarding folk of the potential for co-habitation without the need for violence or cruelty. It was a process that would likely take a long time but forcing others into submission to agree with his opinions was not the way to achieve it; that was what Grindelwald did. Newt had already begun the process of convincing others in his own way, that may be slower but was more likely to take a more lasting and genuine effect than simply using a power like the Elder Wand to beat others into adhering to his sentiments. He wasn’t going to indulge Gellert’s way of thinking or suggestions by involving himself in the speculations that he clearly was trying to push forward.   

Resolutely, he took a step or two away, not quite turning his back on the dark wizard but not gracing him with his full attention either, he had learnt that if there was one thing that he could do not to play into Gellert’s games, it was to ignore him. He was a showman, a narcissist even and loved the sound of his own voice but clearly being trapped so long alone allowed for him to appreciate the value of another’s input, even if it was only in denial. Newt practically felt the irritation thrum down the bond as Newt withdrew his attention from Gellert and for just a moment found some degree of satisfaction at returning even a little of the provocation he had been receiving for so long. He heard two quick, deliberate steps behind him but didn’t fall for the clear fish for attention by turning, instead going to sit directly in the centre of the wall opposite, settling as comfortably as he could and began tracing absent patterns around the hole in knee of his trousers.

“Are you not even a little curious as to how you came to be in possession of such potential for power in the first place?”

Newt fought hard not to jerk his head up at the question, knowing that Gellert was simply following an obvious train of thought that anyone would’ve taken in his position, so restrained his reaction to moving his tracing finger to the back of his left hand instead. Of course, he knew that the spirals of silver-glass had been spreading, well past his collarbone and trailing the skin covering the base of his throat now, but he was still unsure of exactly what was prompting their encroaching expansion. He had at first thought it was linked to the physical contact made between him and Gellert but as none had occurred since Dumbledore increased the restrictions on the dark wizard’s imprisonment, he was now at a loss to trace the pattern. Perhaps it was simply happening as a matter of natural progression – there were no clear rules to playing living host to a blood-pact to consult after all, so maybe it had nothing to do with his actions and was merely a time-related occurrence? It was hard to tell but it was still easier to ponder than focussing his attention back on Gellert or his insidious presence that seemed to be spreading beyond merely the nightly invasions.     

He heard the slightly gritty floor scrape beneath heavy leather boots with purposeful steps that demanded his attention and finally looked up through his fringe at Gellert with some trace of amusement in his sea-blue eyes. From the tightened pinch he saw the older man’s lips take on at Newt’s reaction, he knew that Gellert had realised he had shown his impatience and dislike for being ignored more plainly than he had perhaps meant to. There was a brief glimmer of something close to admiration to accompany the irritation, as if Gellert was impressed that Newt was still trying to find ways to resist him. Newt didn’t feel any pride though, just that cold, hard knowledge that it was likely only a temporary victory – Gellert always had the upper hand and though it made him feel a little better to pretend otherwise they both knew the truth of the matter. Eventually, Newt sighed, and it was a weary sound, fixing Gellert with a resigned expression, tinged with the lingering fear of what he had witnessed mere hours before – an occurrence he still wasn’t sure was real or not. He daren’t voice the hallucination or vision to him unless it was merely a conjuring of his own damaged mind and it gave Gellert a false impression of Newt’s feelings towards him. Imagining what he had…. No, it was better left unspoken. Best to reside in the here and now.

“I am curious.” Newt admitted, keeping his tone low, even and quiet as he imagined Percival might in the same situation, though perhaps lacking the intimidation or anger it might’ve held. “But in my experience, there’s no point in asking you anything directly as I rarely receive an answer that isn’t intended to confuse or annoy me more.” 

Gellert’s thin lips spread in a tight smile and he inclined his head towards Newt seemingly in acknowledgement of his point. “Perhaps, I would have thought that this might warrant a little more intrepidness on your part, however. It is not everyday that one is handed the most powerful of the Hallows.”

“I don’t have it with me, Gellert, and if I have any say in the matter you won’t be getting anywhere near it again.”

Grindelwald’s expression was almost painfully patronising, hands still clasped behind him and posture not betraying any signs of aggravation and that unnerved Newt more than he cared to admit. “My intention is not to reclaim it just yet, as you’re aware, I would have to take it from Albus directly in combat to do so and doing so now is a… dubious accomplishment.”

Giving into his raging curiosity and niggling doubt, Newt sighed and asked, “I’m assuming that you know how it came to be in my coat pocket in the first place, don’t you?”

Gellert’s brow rose delicately and his smirk widened “Getting to the crux of the matter, are we?" Newt didn’t respond verbally, merely continued to fix Grindelwald with an exasperated look that prompted a low chuckle from the other as he got the reaction that he had likely been seeking from the offset. “Very well, as you seem to be in no mood for conversation and are more focussed upon answers without any of the scintillating nuances of conversation we _could_ engage in” Newt almost rolled his eyes and Gellert fixed him with a Cheshire grin that stung in its simplicity. “You put it there.”

Newt regarded him with wary eyes, unsure of whether he was deliberately bating him or if he intended to continue without prompt before realising that Gellert was just waiting for him to ask the obvious question. There was a part of him that was tempted to refuse simply on principle, but his curiosity overrode him once again. “Why would I have done that?”

“Because I wanted you to.” Gellert replied simply and while Newt felt an unpleasant clenching sensation in his chest at the near confirmation of something he had feared just below his more conscious thoughts. He played along with slightly gritted teeth, not allowing his frustration and confusion show more than he could help, the cold trails on sweat now tracing down the lower curve of his back.

“And why don’t I remember any of this?”

“Because I didn’t want you to.” The expression and painfully blunt, clipped, fishing answers were starting to get to Newt, and he found himself dropping his pretence of indifference by pushing himself up from the floor to face Gellert head on.

“Are you going to actually explain any of this or just give me vague half-answers?”

Gellert tilted his head, smirk fixed irritatingly in place, face oddly animated in its arrogance – though not entirely of triumph, it was more the familiar sense of a man who knew he had the upper hand and always had. One that was choosing to reveal exactly as much as he felt like doing in order to provoke a more interesting reaction from Newt and as much as the young magizoologist hated playing into it, he had to know what the dark wizard was on about. A deep pit of dread was sinking an old hole open anew inside his stomach, drawing in all around it in a horribly hollowing feeling. Gellert’s hands came forward to swing lose by his sides, looking oddly no less intimidating in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat than he had with the full regalia as he stepped forward; they were now perhaps two paces apart.

“I shall avoid the temptation to answer your hastily worded questions in the simplest manner by responding ‘yes’ to both.” He sighed a little theatrically as if disappointed for the loss of such a childish response and continued in a more serious tone. “I’ve been having you assist me for some time now with various favours and while I previously considered it preferable for you to remain entirely unaware of such events, I now feel that you deserve to know the truth.”

“Assist you? How exactly?”

“Continuing my fine work of course, assisting the course of the greater good and spreading my message in my…absence.” He laughed then and it was a horrible, soft sound.   

To his credit, Newt’s voice only shook a little as he spoke, eyes wide and shoulders tense under his shirt and unbuttoned waistcoat. “How? I thought your magic was gone, at least enough so you couldn’t do something like this.”

Seeming to realise his meaning without its explicit statement, Gellert chuckled a little, low and throaty, ducking his head and looking up at Newt through pale lashes with darkly amused eyes. “This is not entirely the work of my magic, Newt, what makes you think I couldn’t have just convinced you by other means?”

Newt paled further than he thought possible, memories of mere hours before flickering unpleasantly into his mind’s eyes and having to violently squelch them down again before responding. He purposefully kept his voice strong and unconvinced despite the apprehension and coiled, vile tension he felt curling in his gut. “If you honestly thought you could convince me to help you willingly then why would you need to make me forget? No, I don’t think so, Gellert, what did you do?”

Gellert looked mildly impressed at Newt’s rebuttal but not phased in the slightest which only served to deepen his suspicions and discomfort. “Schlauer Junge, but putting the semantics aside, you have helped me a great deal whether according to your intentions or not.”

Newt’s felt his brows crease further in consternation “Why make me aware of this now?”

“Because quite frankly, Liebling, it amuses me and there is little enough you can do to prevent it.”

“If it were that simple you would have told me long ago and left it dangling over my head. There’s a reason, isn’t there? Something you need help with that you need me to know about in order for it to work.”

The muted, somewhat patronising awe was back again, and an impressed little smile eclipsed the smugness in its more genuine seeming tone, eyes dancing with amusement as they traced appraisingly over Newt once more. He shivered slightly under the rather predatory gaze by limited his discomfort simply to that reaction alone, staring him down as firmly as he could. “You catch on quicker than expected – never ceasing to amaze are you, Newton?” He shook his head a little in apparent bemusement before seeming to gather himself again. “But you needn’t be so eager to offer your service again.” Newt opened his mouth to refute the words before realising that he was being bated again and settled for silent glaring instead. “You’ve already done the difficult part of what I needed you to do but you were right in thinking that I required your awareness for the next part.” He smiled, thin and cold. “You’re going to give me the Elder Wand.”

Newt shook his head forcefully before finding his words mere moments later “No, I’m not. Though I’m sure you knew what my answer would be, so why bother asking this time? If you can apparently make me do what you want with my being none the wiser, what makes this time any different?”

“You are aware that the Elder Wand must be won so that the new owner can fully utilise its potential; having you take the wand for me as I have done seemed the best opportunity to obtain it. Because I am unable to win it for myself directly, I resorted to using you as an envoy of sorts. Had I… _encouraged_ you to duel Albus for it that would have most likely resulted in your defeat and the discovery of my influences over you.” He tilted his head as if in thought as he gauged Newt’s reaction to his words; thankfully the magizoologist managed to restrain his consternation to a light tremor and a tension in his jaw only. It made sense to a point, but he still was unsure as to why he needed to be aware of this for Gellert’s intentions to be carried out; though simultaneously deliberately not thinking on the extent of influence that the dark wizard apparently had over him. _Get all the facts before you let yourself fall apart._     

Evidently sensing his sustained confusion Gellert continued “The reason for which I have chosen to make you aware now is more down to a desire for the intentions between us to be clear once again – for all my talk of honesty I have admittedly kept enough from you that it is comparable to that to of your Auror.” The creases around his eyes deepened a little as the mismatched orbs narrowed, darting to the ground momentarily before fixing back upon Newt.

“And the real reason?” Newt asked, brow raised, not buying the flimsy excuse for its face value – even it was true, Newt doubted that Gellert would reveal such information without plenty of ulterior motives. Gellert touched a hand to his chest over his heart then, mouth open in mock affront, seemingly enthused by his own dramatics.

“This is one of the few tasks I’ve asked of you that required some physical, obvious proof – once you had the wand it was inevitable that you would discover it in your possession. I may have been able to keep your memories of what I have required from you in past submerged, but something like this remains difficult to hide from my… position.” He admitted this with a slight hint of reluctance, as if unwilling to admit his own dependence “I thought it best that you were aware of holding such a valuable object due to your more careless tendencies regarding your safety. I knew that should you be unaware of how you obtained it you would assume that Albus had a hand in it and so wouldn’t discard it – instead keeping it close to yourself.”

“That’s an awful lot of flimsy guesswork, Gellert. How did you know I wouldn’t just return it straight to Albus?” Gellert’s expression twisted then into something more bitter and Newt felt the mirroring twist in his stomach brace further against the tension being placed on it, the moisture building on the surface of his skin becoming more noticeable as droplets traced along the side of his face. He swiped them away with an impatient, tremoring hand.

“Because you’ve seen that he isn’t as immune to its temptations as you may wish to believe he is. You try to convince yourself that you didn’t return it to him because you thought he may have had plans to keep it safe in your hands instead of his own, but you know better than that, don’t you?”

Newt felt a muscle in his eye twitch slightly and he diverted his gaze to his shuffling feet for a moment before re-fixing them upon Gellert’s face, although subconsciously avoiding his eyes directly. “This is why you pulled me here now isn’t it? Because you were afraid that I’d give it to Albus if you waited any longer?” Gellert’s lips thinned, his smile dropping like oil slick from water, clearly displeased with Newt seeing through his arguably transparent manipulations – by this point Newt had rather expected better from him. Though he was simultaneously certain that there were still a multitude of things that Gellert could likely dangle over his head or use to trip him should he feel the need, Newt still took the smallest of victories where he could. “What makes you think that I would give the wand to you without your manipulations then? Even if I accepted your excuses about why you made me aware this time, I still don’t see why you would need me to agree to this willingly now. If you have as much power over me as you claim to then why not simply use that to make me give you the wand?”     

“I wanted to give you the choice, Liebling, I told you-”

Newt cut across with unusual vehemence that surprised both “Try again.”

“Excuse me?” Gellert’s tone was politely incredulous, sharply, dangerously so, even as a vein of that odd awe softened the edge from it.

“If you’re going to be so ‘accommodating’ all of a sudden then why not tell me the truth? At this point I damn well think I’ve earned a little honesty from you.” Gellert looked to be almost fuming now but the knot in Newt’s stomach was bubbling like acid and bile at the repressed emotion that had been pent up there so long and he channelled it into a singular need to get some truth out of the wizard before him.

“Careful, Newton, my patience only extends so far and whilst I appreciate your tenacity, your continued belligerence on this matter begins to strain my tolerance.”

Newt found himself releasing a slightly hysterical bubble of a laughter then, scarping a hand back through his hair, tugging a little on the stands in his barely repressed frustration “You can’t honestly bait me like this and not expect me to ask for some truth from you?” He took a step forward, his stance slanted as he leant his weight upon his back leg in habitual aversion but wanting to make his stance clear, nonetheless. “You’ve just admitted that you’ve apparently been controlling my actions and making me forget what happens! Haven’t you done enough already? Do you expect me to give you what you want now simply because you’ve done me the most basic decency by making me aware of the deplorable things you’ve done? I thought I’d made it clear to you that just because you’re honest about being a terrible person doesn’t mean that it makes it any better.” He breathed heavily, having expelled a little of what had been building within him during their conversation but still feeling the acidic, gaping, drawing hole in his gut pulling; trying to draw in the rest. His voice dropped to a quiet, slightly throaty whisper, almost desperate “How have you been doing this? What did you make me do?”

Gellert regarded him oddly then, traces of disquiet in his expression but also mixed with a glow to his eyes that indicated something akin to excitement or interest; hunger even. “Such fire in you, little Newt.” His voice was low and soft with twisted affection but also a tad sad sounding, as if he almost regretted riling Newt as much as he had. _As if._ Newt could feel his body shuddering still, adrenaline pumping through him, coming from nowhere but fuelling his steadfastness by not simply crumbling under his uncertainty and the lingering dark tendrils of memory digging into the edges of his mind.    

Gellert tilted his head, eyes firm and a hand coming up to hover some inches away from Newt’s cheek and though both knew it couldn’t make contact, Newt still flinched almost spasmodically causing a crease to form in Gellert’s brow. “Perhaps you weren’t ready to know just yet…” he let the words hang in the air between them for a moment before he continued in a more ordinary tone, blinking as if expelling the blight of sentiment from his expression. “Nevertheless, it is necessary. I don’t truly require you to give me the wand just yet, just keep it from Albus until I ask you to do otherwise. Though sooner would of course be preferable.”

Newt swallowed thickly and shook his head jerkily “No, I told you, I’m not doing anything for you.”

“Yes, you will.” Gellert replied smoothly, eyes hardening into ice and silver in the cold, disembodied light of the cell and hand lowering to clasp behind him once more. “Resorting to standard threats was something I was hoping to avoid and that you would simply accept your role as you should, but it seems that in this instance the simplest methods are often the most effective.”

Newt felt his heart clench within him at the implications – Gellert couldn’t hurt him directly and from past experience it seemed as though he didn’t appreciate it being done through any third-parties, so the next logical leap was that Grindelwald was going to threaten those close to him. Gellert clearly sensed his comprehension and his lip curled, as if in distaste for the predictable nature of such tactics but the slight gleam in his mismatched eyes indicating that he drew some degree of satisfaction from it, nonetheless. “You know what I could do to him – any of them really, but in all honesty your dear Percy has been trying my patience for some time with his incessant insipidness and his disregard for touching _what doesn’t belong to him_.” His curved lips and intense eyes made Newt’s insides curl up, clenching and twisting in his discomfort, wanting to step backwards but finding that his watery legs were barely able to support him, let alone allow for movement, so he instead focussed his efforts on locking his knees into place.

“I don’t _belong_ to anyone.” Newt gritted out despite his anxiety and swirling abhorrence and Gellert laughed, ducking his head with a sick smile before meeting Newt’s gaze from as close a distance as he could, and Newt was horrified to feel the warmth of the other’s breath wafting upon his cheek.

“You belong to me as much as anyone can to another, little Newt. We’re connected by more than mere sentiment; we’re joined by blood and by mind, by forces that draw two individuals closer together than your dear Percival can comprehend.” His expression flashed with distaste and traces of black anger then, melting through the sickening affection with terrifying rapidity, lips barely brushing the surface above Newt’s cheek, just close enough that Newt could feel the tell-tale tingle of magic that was preventing the contact thrumming between their skin. It was like the static of an energy field or barrier, making the minuscule hairs on his skin stand on end and fizzle, sending jolts of sensation shooting along his nerve endings like fire.   

“You want to know how I escape this blasted cell to continue my fine work? How you’ve helped me more than you can comprehend?” He withdrew just enough so that Newt’s blurring vision could focus upon his face once more, eyes as wide as Newt’s but matching the sea-blue pair’s despair with his own elation. “When you go into that deeper place of sleep, I move into place in your stead. I’ve mastered the ability to… take the wheel as it were. Your body has been useful enough as a vessel even putting aside the poor state of health you leave it in, of course there was nothing a little rejuvenating magic on my part couldn’t fix. Kept your foolish disregard for your wellbeing from rendering you useless.” Gellert’s expression turned contemplative, but Newt couldn’t quite comprehend the fullest implications of the words as the numbness that had been lingering for so long encroached him once more. He felt frozen in place as his innards were consumed by the gaping pit, pulling away everything as more destructive words flowed from Gellert’s lips in a seemingly mutedly euphoric monologue.  

“Of course, I couldn’t allow you or anyone else be aware of it at first, so I borrowed a little of your magic with which to transform my – or rather _your_ – appearance into something my followers would find easier to believe in. Without ever having to leave my cell or making anyone else any the wiser, I’ve been able to continue directing the cause with little outside interference.” He smiled again then and it was a twisted form of affection that set Newt’s already numb teeth on edge, a violent shudder jerked through his immobile form and he found his arms had snaked about his own waist as the wizard had been speaking; pressing hard on his abdomen as it to prevent the horrible sensation that had built within it. It didn’t help.

“H-how? How is this even possible?” Newt’s voice was still a hoarse whisper and Gellert’s smile turned almost indulgent.

“The bond of course. I may have been misleading Albus on how far my explorations of it had gone for the sake of my better intentions, and I’ve discovered a number of incredibly unique ways in which it can be used.” His mismatched eyes traced the open collar of Newt’s old shirt where just the beginnings of the silver-glass lining his skin could be seen poking from the edge. “It left its mark perhaps, but overall I think it turned out quite smoothly, don’t you? My work continues. My followers get their orders right from the source. Albus gets the satisfaction of keeping me locked up and your Auror friends can remain under the illusion that they have done their good work.” His tone was dripping derision but also had an edge of that same excitement that morphed his expression further into something alarmingly close to what Newt had seen on the apparition of Grindelwald in his room hours before.

“Not that I didn’t find some satisfaction in wearing your body around in the time when my followers required no instruction. It’s as satisfying as ever to explore, even with your own fingertips…feeling my handiwork from another’s perspective is…quite the experience I must admit…” He smirked in vile reminiscence and Newt almost retched, skin crawling abysmally as he continued “Your home too is quaint, but as you can imagine, still provided more interest than my current accommodations, so full of potential for amusement.” He glanced about the cell with a tight smirk before returning his burning gaze to Newt whose face was almost grey with sickness and distress. He had to swallow several times to prevent the acidic despair that was clearing its way up his throat from the gaping pit in his chest. The idea of Gellert wearing his body like a suit to do his bidding, of touching his skin, of being in his home, near his creatures, near his friends, his brother and Percy… all the while without Newt being at all aware.

How long had this been going on? He remembered Percival, Tina, Albus and Theseus mentioning sightings of Grindelwald as far back as when he had first arrived in London. It terrified him to think that the sightings had not in fact been rumour but instead had been Gellert, in his body but in the guise of his usual appearance. What had he done using Newt’s hand? How many people might’ve been harmed or killed in the past six or more months? What if Gellert had been doing things to his friends or creatures without his knowledge? And the thought of Grindelwald being allowed free roam over his body whilst he was unaware…when he thought he’d been safe and asleep, when he’d let his guard down deliberately around Gellert, thinking that he was being merciful by allowing him sleep but had actually been… Newt couldn’t repress the nausea this time and lurched backwards away from the dark wizard on unsteady legs, crashing to his hands and knees and retching violently onto the stones. The chasm in his chest seemed to expand and tear apart further with each violent, sour-burning heave but he couldn’t seem to stop it, eyes burning behind closed lids and sweat sticking his shirt and hair tight to his skin.

Every time he thought he’d been safe from Gellert, when he had fallen into deeper unconsciousness in his presence, he’d been unwittingly letting him in – practically rolling out welcome mat for him whilst trying to escape his overbearing presence. Newt’s mind flashed to the two followers who had attacked him – brutally murdered in their cell and left as a warning to others with words carved into them that could only have come from Gellert’s deranged mind. Had it been his hand that had performed the deed? Had Gellert done it directly as a warning? But he’d been in St Mungo’s, surely someone would’ve noticed his absence or him transforming into the most infamous dark wizard of the century? But then again, when he’d awoken, he had been alone and apparently unconscious for most of the night – left in a state where the horns hadn’t even been removed from his head yet. Perhaps Gellert had created an illusion of him to leave in the bed whilst he committed the atrocious act or maybe just spelled the staff to not notice his absence? Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen a single nurse or healer in the brief window of consciousness before Albus arrived. The mark had grown after the incident in February, but Newt had assumed it had been due to the attack but what if it had merely coincided with another of Gellert’s invasions.

He heaved again, whole body trembling violently and the sense of utter violation and horror pervading every iota of his being, there was a roaring in his ears that blocked out all else. Newt could only barely feel the cold, hard stone beneath his knees and hands as an oddly soothing cool pressure on his heated, feverish skin. Eventually his throat became so dry and his stomach so empty that not even bile spattered the stone beneath him, and Newt shuddered violently once more before opening his eyes, deliberately diverting them from the mess in front of him. He levered himself backwards on shaky arms until his back hit the wall and he rested against it with knees pressed to his chest, arms loosely wrapped around them, eyes hazy but focussed solely upon the floor between his toes. The dark, featureless stone allowing some mirroring blankness to seep into his ravaged mind, he felt drained after such a violent reaction to his distress and purposefully tried to drag his ragged thoughts back into some semblance of order even as he heard footsteps approach him once more. Gellert’s boots carefully skirted around the mess left where he had been standing and halted directly in front of Newt, crouching down to be on eye level with him. His expression was contrastingly soft and eyes dark with something else that he couldn’t place but Newt still couldn’t help his shudders from increasing as the heat slowly left his skin, the cooling sweat, dark eyes and chill air leaving him feeling abruptly cold.

“There now, calm yourself, little Newt.” his head tilted, looking like he wanted to reach forward to touch him but instead restrained himself to deepening his gaze instead, strands of palest flaxen hair falling forward to caress the skin of his equally pallid forehead as he did so. “It’s not so bad as you might think, I did not harm any of your dear companions – beast or otherwise.” The words, despite their source came as a little of a relief to Newt and he raised smarting, wide eyes to regard Gellert’s pale lips as he continued to speak, tracing the shapes they made in leu of risking the danger of eye contact.

“I merely explored a little of what makes you what you are, and I must admit that your creatures are quite as fascinating as I imagined them to be, as are your collections of rare magical substances.” His voice was laced with a fond tinge that resembled how an overly proud parent might speak of their offspring. But then his eyes hardened into something much more heated – dangerous and with a clear threat present in them. “For instance, the wide variety of toxins you possess would be more than enough to debilitate any otherwise fully capable Auror. And coming from a trusted source, it would only be so easy to ply them upon one without them being any the wiser.” Newt flinched at the obvious implications, allowing his eyes to drift up to Gellert’s finally which sparked with apparent triumph. “I must admit there would be a unique kind of satisfaction to be found in watching that American wretch squirm, wither and die, all the while thinking it was his precious little lover who did it. To know that you savoured every second of his suffering before his demise and not know why.” Newt felt his head shaking of its own accord, lips barely moving in silent denial at the images Gellert was conjuring with mere words and he couldn’t hope to quell the horror and helplessness he could feel consuming him at the situation he found himself in.   

“You know what I want, Newt and while I am willing to wait until you realise your place, I must say that any deliberation on your part only gives me more of an ample opportunity with which to pick off your little friends. One by one.” Pale lips carved a thin line into his face with a vile smile, eyes alit with something too tainted to call anticipation. “Percival would be first of course, for his continued _interferences_ and delusions over just who you belong to. Your brother perhaps next, so that he never gains the chance to fail as much as a father as your own did for him. Though I’m quite so callous as to deprive Tina from bringing new magical blood into the world, especially not from such promising bloodlines, but her sister and the muggle are certainly expendable.” He stood then, eyes cold and hard though perhaps tinged a little with some small sympathy. “You see Newt, there is very little you can do to prevent this from happening so it would be easier for all involved if you simply brought me what I needed. The longer you deliberate on this, the more likely my patience is to disappear completely and whilst I do not wish to cause you unnecessary suffering, I will act if you force my hand.”    

His lips twitched into a more sincere seeming smile, eyes alit with that same twisted pleasure Newt was only half-convinced was not his imagination from before as he looked down at where Newt sat hunched and trembling on the floor. “I do hope you make the right decision, Newt, the consequences for you and your friends would not be enviable by any means. If you do this willingly then I might even be tempted to leave them alone entirely once I am free. Is it really so much to ask that I gain my freedom in return for the continued wellbeing of all that you care about? A situation that benefits all, no?”

Before Newt could think to respond he was being flipped out of the cell, back through the ceiling and abruptly into the waking world where his sore, shivering body now resided prone on his back on the dirt floor of Henry’s enclosure. The Zouwu had apparently moved out from under him – likely whenever Newt’s physical self had transferred itself to the cell – and was instead now stood several feet from him, regarding him curiously though suspiciously with large amber eyes. Henry came closer when he saw that Newt was both awake and physically present, nosing him in what Newt supposed was meant to be a gentle manner but he still groaned a little in response, his body inexplicably aching all over. He took a grateful hold onto Henry’s nearest tusk, and levered himself up into a stiff standing position, leaning on him a bit before standing, swaying on the spot with an arm snaked around his own waste.

On shaky legs he vacated the enclosure, making his way over to his makeshift lab/living space near under the base of the mess of staircases and fumbled a glass jar of ground herbs from one of the shelves with clumsy hands. Snagging a half-empty bottle of glistening green liquid from the next counter along, he floated over a metal bowl and poured a little of each into the container, waving a hand over it to combine them into a runny paste. Before he could be off-put by the familiarly sickly-sweet stench of the mixture he scooped it up with a wooden spoon and swallowed it down, grimacing at the aftertaste but feeling some relief flow through him seconds later. The headache and nausea abated a little and he sniffed a few times before the customary rush of energy surged through him – the mixture was meant for short-term relief only of exhaustion and illness as its extended use could cause worse symptoms but for now at least it had done the trick to clear his head a bit. Newt sank down into the battered, claw-shredded leather armchair, startling the Augurey that rested on its back and causing him to fly away in an indignant huff that the magizoologist only felt numbly guilty for in his preoccupation.      

Despite the overwhelming and redundant instinct pushing on him to simply curl up in the chair and not move again until a miracle suddenly swooped in and fixed everything for him, Newt pushed past it and forced himself to focus on his options. _Look at the situation like how you would with a creature in peril – register the concern but don’t let it eclipse your ability to make sound decisions._ He took some time simply focussing on taking deep breaths in and out, imagining a larger, rougher but contrastingly gentle thumb running over the side of his hand and another pressing his other hand to rest on a sturdy chest to match the steady beat below. It helped and after a while he allowed his mind to wander properly to the issues at hand and spread out his choices in front of him in a more manageable way than the chaotic mess that they had become. 

Firstly, he could give into Gellert’s demand and give him the Elder Wand – allowing him to free himself and wreak Merlin only knew what havoc upon the world.

_Not the best of starts, next._

Secondly, he could refuse and attempt to abstain from sleeping for as long as he could before he eventually succumbed and Gellert began picking off his friends one by one using his body to do so.      

_Also not great, anything else?_

Third, he could go to Dumbledore and hope that there was something he might be able to do to help.

_He hasn’t been able to do anything about blood-bond related issues before even if he says he’s getting close to a breakthrough, he probably hasn’t thought to factor in the idea of you being routinely possessed by Grindelwald in your sleep. Besides, if you go to him and he can’t help you it’ll just result in Gellert getting pissed and deciding to take it out on your friends anyway._

Newt blinked repeatedly to push back the persistent burning sensation and scrubbed hard at them with the back of his hand to attempt to relieve the pressure as he scoured his brain for other options. Asking anyone for help or even telling them could well lead to Gellert being provoked into doing something violent and Newt knew for a fact that no amount of charms, potions or coffee would be able to keep him awake and fully aware forever. Eventually he would need to find proper rest and judging from how he was currently feeling, it would be sooner rather than later. He supposed that he could attempt to destroy the Elder Wand and then provoke Gellert enough so that he might go directly after Newt instead of his friends but he realised that if the wand were destroyed it would likely significantly diminish the safety measures and restrictions on Grindelwald… which could also result in his escape.

The only halfway decent means he could see that could potentially protect his friends and prevent Gellert’s escape was to remove himself from the presence of all he cared about as well as the Elder Wand. He’d have to find somewhere he could never be found but even in his fantasy, Newt knew that it was highly unlikely to work – if he simply up and disappeared, his friends would no doubt attempt to seek him out. Theseus and Percival especially had a history of keeping a frustratingly close eye on him after all. But then if he told them he needed to leave, they would demand an explanation and that would put him in another difficult situation. And as for hiding the Wand – no matter where he stashed it, as long as he knew where it was, so would Gellert, and besides, the moment he touched it, there was a chance that Gellert would drag him back to the cell and he’d have what he wanted.

The Augurey swooped back around then, causing the chair he was sat upon to creak and shift alarmingly as the vulture-like bird’s weight settled upon the back, pecking lightly but irritably at his shoulder with impatience. Newt smiled tiredly as he glanced at the battered clock over on the counter where it rested upon an open book and below a half-chewed mouse carcass – likely the Phoenix’s work, as the other winged inhabitants mainly ate seeds or insects – and Newt realised that he had been out for some time. It was nearing six o’clock and judging that he had gone to sleep in the early evening, he could only guess that it was the early morning of the next day. He stretched, cracking his joints a little from where they had set from sitting hunched for so long and followed the airborne path the Augurey took back towards his enclosure, snagging a bucket of insects and seed from the table as he went. Newt went about checking upon and feeding the creatures with an ease that only came with long years of practise and routine, only giving his full focus to the tasks at hand whenever one of them caused an issue because he hadn’t been giving them as much attention as they thought they deserved. He received a particularly hard nip from the Occamy young as he almost neglected to pay the right care about their need for personal space as he usually might’ve. He smiled apologetically at them and instead dropped a few more bits of dried rat meat into their nest for good measure which they snapped up happily and chirped at him in thanks.

He wandered over to the Bowtruckle tree more out of habit then anything else as they had a plentiful supply of woodlice available and often stuck to themselves but was pleased to see that Pickett had settled in better than he had expected. A week or so ago, he had begun insisting more firmly upon him staying with his own family and had been avoiding lingering too long about the enclosure ever since to not give Pick the opportunity to creep back into his clothing without him noticing. Now however, he felt the overwhelming urge for some familiar company and so approached the branch where Pickett was swinging alongside Titus and Poppy with apparent glee. That elation turned to an almost humorous level of faux-distain as he turned himself away from Newt with a chirping huff and a general sentiment of being unhappy at being left so long.

“Sorry Pick, you’ve got to learn to be with your own kind some of the time. It’s not healthy for you to be sticking around me all the time.” He listened to the indignant little chirps in response as Pickett turned, both reprimanding him for a terrible though unintentional pun and refuting his point.

Newt smiled, leaning down to be on eye level with Pick’s beady black eyes and offering a gentle finger to the creature. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry, I get the point, you can come along from now on as long as you promise to spend your nights here, so I don’t have to worry about squishing you in my sleep?” Pickett seemed to consider the proposal then chirruped once and stepped over onto his proffered finger with a haughty chirp that made Newt chuckle as he placed the little creature in his waistcoat pocket. Newt scraped a hand absently through his messy hair before starting back over to check upon Henry, only then seeing the neatly written note on the fence telling him that Percival had left the night before. He wasn’t particularly surprised but still felt a pang on contrasting relief at not having to explain his sour, despondent fatigued mood to Percival but also of an odd sense of abandonment. It was silly really, there was no reason for Percy to stick around after he fell asleep as he disappeared half the time, but he still found part of himself wishing that he had someone he could simply have hold him and not ask any questions. Just the comfort of the contact and each other’s presence. Tending to his creatures had helped a little to calm him, as if often did, but he missed Percival’s strong, reassuring presence in a way he couldn’t quite describe.       

Newt ascended the multiple sets of stairs with weary steps and went back into the main living area of the house to hear the sounds of clinking, rustling and thumping coming from his kitchen and immediately drew his wand, softening his steps until he could glimpse around the doorframe. He relaxed and re-sheathed his wand immediately as he saw the familiar blonde curled head of Queenie busying herself over his stovetop whilst Tina, Theseus and Jacob sat around the table. Newt cleared his throat a little awkwardly as he entered, and all eyes flicked to him in a chorus of polite and tired greetings from the table. Queenie turned to call him over her shoulder in a contrastingly cheery tone and flashed him a brilliant smile, ushering him towards one of the remaining vacant chairs. He sat, albeit a bit warily and looked around his gathered friends and brother for some sort of confirmation as to what was going on – they ate together occasionally but with the busy work schedules most of them kept, such opportunities had come few and far between lately.

“We hadn’t done this in a while and Queenie was awful keen on doing it again so thought we should all get together to surprise you with a bit of breakfast.” Tina was the one to take mercy on his obvious befuddlement and smiled softly, though obviously with some tired amusement over her steaming, chipped mug of tea. He noted it as odd as she usually preferred coffee and that oddity jarred Newt’s memory back into gear. Something that Gellert had said about Tina bringing new magical blood into the world and Theseus being an inadequate father. It had been temporarily lost amongst the numerous barbs and crushing revelation the dark wizard had spouted but now he found himself wondering how Gellert had guessed it before he had realised. Newt didn’t know for sure, but a few things were starting to slide into place in his head in the face of the information. Did Theseus know yet? Did Tina? How far along was she? The thoughts swirled his brain into an incomprehensible mess, though thankfully not as muddled as earlier and he managed to school his expression from stunned to blank in a matter of moments though Tina was now regarding him oddly. “You alright there, Newt?”

“Oh yes, um fine, sorry.” Newt replied and hastily took the cup of tea that floated over from the counter where Queenie was working on something spicy smelling in a large pot over the stove. For want of something to distract them from his obvious muddle he sucked down a quick sip of the scalding liquid and asked, “So uh how did the rest of the lessons with Credence go?”

“Fine, though Dumbledore left earlier than usual as he said he had some business to attend to, probably for the best really. As nice as he is, he puts Credence a bit on edge – me too if I’m honest and he was shook-up enough about the whole Phoenix thing already.” She frowned a bit absently before offering a kind smile to Newt “How is he by the way? Thought of a name yet?”

Grateful for the change of topic he shook his head, sipping his tea again before answering “He seems to be doing fine but I’m not sure if he’s going to stick around very long, even with his unusually friendly behaviour so I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to start getting too attached just yet.”

He heard a snort from Theseus, who was half-engrossed in a copy of the prophet and draining a mug of coffee and glanced up at Newt’s enquiring gaze “I don’t think there’s a thing in this world that could stop you getting ‘too attached’ to a beast and you’ve been yammering on about wanting to meet a Phoenix since you were six.”

“True, but I’m not going to keep him around just because I want him here. Phoenix aren’t known for being domesticated – I can’t think of a single case where someone was successfully done so. He’ll probably leave as soon as he realises that I won’t let him catch any of the others.”

“If someone can manage to tame an untameable bird, I bet it’d be you, Newt.” Jacob put and Newt smiled at the Muggle’s enthusiasm even as the others chuckled a little and the baker looked about in confusion. “Are they really that hard to look after? He’s got a ton of dangerous things in there that most sane folk wouldn’t go anywhere near.” He flushed red a little and looked over at Newt with a slightly apologetic wince “Sorry bout that, Newt, didn’t mean nothing by it, s’just-”

“Its alright Jacob, you’re quite right but yes, Phoenix usually have a habit of avoiding humans and are some of the rarest, most immensely powerful and sought-after birds in the world.” Newt commented, offering the Muggle a small smile and going on to explain as the words flowed more easily than the disturbing thoughts in his head did. “They’re essentially immortal as they can be reborn over and over, they’re immune to fire, can lift immense weight, travel great distances almost instantly, their tears have unique healing properties and their feathers can be used to make incredibly powerful wands.” The young magizoologist had to stifle a grin at the suitably dumbfounded expression on Jacob’s face and was struck momentarily by how much he had missed having his friends around like this. The sensation of being part of a group, of having something like a family was one that he sorely missed, even if he didn’t realise it much of the time and he allowed himself an inward smile in that moment. It was tainted however but the thought that all of this could just as easily be taken away in mere moments should Gellert not get what he wanted from Newt.  

Queenie joined the table then, floating a pot of what looked to be a simmering vegetable-based stew onto the surface and charming the bowls, ladles and spoons to begin serving. “Dig in everyone! I know it’s a little early for stew but trust me its worth it.”

“No complaints here darlin’.” Jacob replied jovially as he tucked into his own bowl and everyone else soon followed suit, Theseus placing down his folded paper with a sigh and joining them at a reproachful look from Tina. It all seemed so normal then, so like a scene you might see at any family dinner table even discounting that variety of nationalities, professions, aptitude for magic and backgrounds. There was a companionable quiet for a few minutes as everyone started their ways into the heaped bowls of stew accompanied by the huge hunks of warm homemade bread that had hovered to each. The food was good, and Newt felt a warm gratefulness to Queenie for avoiding adding meat to the meals she cooked whenever he was around. It was a simple gesture, but he appreciated it, nonetheless.

Theseus was the one to break the quiet as he glanced up at Newt with a forcibly casual tone “Graves not up yet then?” He then winced and from the look he sent in Tina’s direction, Newt got the distinct feeling that she had kicked him under the table and had to hold in a snort of laughter as he replied.

“He left last night actually, wanted to spend some time in his own bed for once I think.”

Queenie looked over at him with a frown then “Something wrong between you two honey? Did you get into a fight or sumin’?” She then winced too and from the jarring of the table Newt guessed that Tina’s legs had been longer than he previously thought judging from her position on the other side of Jacob from her sister. Queenie frowned at Tina and shook her head stubbornly in her direction, evidently in response to her thoughts behind the pointed look she was spearing the blonde with. “I’m not snooping Teenie! I’m just making sure that everything’s okay with them.”       

Tina looked ready to snap at Queenie before Newt cleared his throat a little awkwardly to draw their attention, flushing slightly pink. “Everything’s fine, I think we were both just a bit tired.” He wasn’t about to admit the real problems that had occurred and offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“If you’re sure honey.” Queenie said, sounding unconvinced but allowing his excuse to go unquestioned, even so.

Tina offered him a tentative, tired smile in return “If you do need to talk about anything, we’re here for the both of you.”

“That reminds me, I’ve been meaning to ask Newt, what exactly is the deal with you, and this Graves guy? You old war buddies or sumin?” Newt choked a little on his spoonful of piping stew and it was only Theseus thumping him on the back that prevented him from choking though not quite hiding a combined look of amusement and distaste. Newt had admittedly been expecting this question from Jacob for some time but had hoped simultaneously that it wouldn’t come up. He like Jacob very much and didn’t want to potentially damage something in their friendship by admitting his sexuality to him. Up until now, he had mainly got away with simply changing the topic when it came to his lovelife around Jacob and not engaging in any too intimate behaviour around his friends in general for the most part. It hadn’t just been for Jacob’s benefit however, that he had asked Percival to be a bit more subtle with their relationship around the group. It was also to not make things awkward for Tina to see her boss and erstwhile crush romantically involved with her friend, not to mention the danger of ramping up Theseus’ already skyrocketing blood pressure, although Newt had noticed that Percival had occasionally taken a few chances to rub their relationship into Theseus’ face despite Newt’s numerous appeals.

Now, he felt rather put upon as he shifted awkwardly in his seat and the women of the table looked to be fighting down giggles at the thoroughly bemused expression on Jacob’s face at Newt’s reaction. Newt cleared his throat, sipping on his tea a little to stall and help clear his dry throat as he replied, “Well um, Percival and I, we’re um… quite close?” The last part petered off into a stupid sounding question and Queenie couldn’t contain her snort of laughter, soon followed by Tina.

“Right…” Jacob said, trailing off and looking very confused and more than a little miffed for the huge thing he was obviously missing out on.

“I’m sorry Jacob, I mean, I didn’t want to um upset you or change anything between-…uh Percival and I are together uh… romantically I suppose.” He was flushed bright crimson by this point and even the Goldstein sisters’ hilarity had subsided to tightly repressed grins. Newt risked a look up through his fringe from where he had been boring a hole in the table with his gaze to see Jacob looking oddly blank and cringed inwardly.

“Oh right, so you two, you’re um-”

“Gay?” Queenie helpfully supplied from his side and Newt flushed brighter.

Jacob blinked and shook his head slightly “Actually I was just gonna say together but sure, yeah, that too I guess.”

It was Newt’s turn to blink rapidly “You don’t mind?”

“Nah, I mean, you’re still the same guy ain’t ya? If I wasn’t gonna not like you for being a wizard, kinda loopy and running about with a case full of crazy creatures then why the hell would I have a problem with you being queer?” Newt was tempted to question the odd logic but shook it from his mind in wake of the little leave of just a fraction of the tension residing in him.

He smiled gratefully at Jacob’s slightly goofy grin. “Well… I guess that makes sense. Thank you, Jacob.”

“Don’t be stupid, Newt, you’re a great guy and if this Mr Graves makes you happy then that’s… well that’s all good for you ain’t it?” Queenie patted Jacob’s a hand a bit and hastily changed the topic to how their business was going and the slew of customers they’d been getting since sending out fliers the month before. Newt listened with half an ear after that, allowing his mind to wander back to the more pressing problems and pondering in rather hopeless circles about how he was going to find a way out of giving Grindelwald the Elder Wand whilst preserving the lives of his those that surrounded him and Percival.

He was no closer to a solution a near half an hour later when he, Tina and Theseus had cleared the table and the Kowalski’s had rushed off to work – though it was a Sunday, they still kept the bakery open, just opened later. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Newt saw that it was now nearly nine-thirty as he scrubbed manually at the empty pot – having volunteered for the task for want of something to do with his hands and the odd, nervous energy that was charging him. Tina was silently drying the dishes on his other side, joining him in the mundane physical task for reasons that baffled Newt whilst Theseus sat at the table, submerged in his paper once more.

Having given up on the issue for the time being whilst he was in the company of people who knew him well enough to know when he was distressed about something, he found his mind tracing the possibility that the women standing next to him was currently carrying his brother’s child. It was bizarre in the extreme to think of it in such a way, but the thought was stuck in his mind – had Gellert been lying? If so, why? And if it was true, did Tina know yet? Surely, she would know before Grindelwald did – Newt may be shaky on the subject of interacting with humans, but he knew enough about their biology to know exactly what would’ve clued Tina in to her potential impending motherhood. After a few more minutes of silent work, Tina let out an exasperated sigh and threw down the drying cloth onto the side with some force, turning to look at Newt with a fierce glare and hissed. “Can you _stop_ that?”    

Newt blinked, nonplussed, soapy suds dripping from his hands as they hovered uncertainly above the filled sink “S-sorry, what?”  

She grabbed him by the arm then, tugging him out of the kitchen and into the living room, slamming the door with only a brief smile to reassure Theseus who looked up in almost as much confusion as Newt felt. Tina rounded on him with a fierce, desperate look in her salamander like eyes and Newt could only stand awkwardly under her gaze, soapy, wet arms still dripping onto the carpet below and sleeves rolled up around his elbows.

“You kept on staring at my damn belly in there and Scamander or not, Theseus is going to notice if you keep on ogling like that!” Newt opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off with a wave of a finger directly in his face “I don’t know how you guessed or which Morgana-damned creature let you know - however they do that sort of thing” she waved her hands wildly then, as if unsure of how to articulate his creatures supposed powers of sensing pregnancy from long distances. “But you can’t let anyone know about it – not yet anyway. Please, please, please just let me figure it out before you tell anyone.” She slumped onto the arm of the nearby sofa then, seeming to deflate from her anger and looking more tired and uncertain than he could remember ever seeing her. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that I was staring.” He admitted and Tina huffed out a half-laugh half-sob as she scrubbed at her eyes irritably with the back of one hand until Newt fished out a handkerchief from one pocket and considered it for several seconds before casting Scourgify to remove the long-dried blood, dirt and saliva stains from it and handing it to her. She sniffed and offered him a watery, grateful smile.

“I didn’t mean to yell or grab you like that, sorry Newt, I just-… I don’t know what I’m going to do about all this. It’s not like I can take time of work right now and I’ve got my hands full enough with the ambassador work, my Auror duties and poor Credence… not to mention what this’ll do to Theseus.” Another round of tears welled up in her eyes then and she breathed in deeply a few times to keep from sobbing even as the tears still tracked down her face. “He just got out of it with Leta and we’re haven’t been together all that long. He told me that they weren’t even thinking about kids and they were _engaged_ for Lewis’ sake! I can’t put this on him now… I just… can’t.”

Newt stood awkwardly in front of her, completely unsure of what he could say but wanting to do something to reassure his sobbing, obviously distressed friend. After several far too long moments of tense silence only punctuated by her continued sniffing and the occasional shuffle of his feet as he shifted his stance on the carpeted floor, he decided that honesty was probably the best way to go in this situation. “I can’t pretend I’ll know how Theseus will react, but I like to think that he’ll do right by you no matter what. He obviously cares very much about you, Tina and even if he does do something incredibly stupid, you still have lots of other people around who will be there for you when you need them.” He tried a soft smile, offering her as warm and encouraging an expression as he could manage under the circumstances. “Besides, there are dozens of creatures I could name that don’t see any necessity in a father so make a point of either eating them or raising the young on their own. If anyone could do this, I think you certainly can.”

She laughed a bit, watery and amused despite herself, reaching forward with the hand not clutching the handkerchief and squeezing his tightly, gulping a few times before finally speaking. “T-thanks Newt… I think.” She drew in a sharp breath and wiped the last of the tears from her face with one final furious scrub, standing as she squeezed his hand again briefly before releasing it entirely. “I’m sorry about all this… I just…I haven’t had any idea how to tell anybody yet – its been hell keeping it from Queenie although I’m pretty sure she suspects something already.”

“She usually does.” Newt agreed softly and looked down at her with concerned, speculative eyes through his ragged fringe. “Are you going to tell anyone? I mean I suppose you’ll have to eventually but…” He trailed off, unsure and Tina shrugged, eyes red and puffy.

“I’ll tell Thes soon I expect but I… I’m not sure if we’re ready for this sort of…thing.” She gave Newt another weak smile and a nod that seemed more to bolster herself than anything else. “Just…let me tell him and quit staring at my stomach like that.”

“Sorry.” Newt flushed, not having realised he was doing it in the first place. “I’ll try to keep my stomach staring to a minimum.”

She giggled again at his poor attempt at humour, but it seemed to diffuse a little more tension between them, and she tilted her head to look up at him directly with a fond, amused, slightly apologetic gaze. “This must be weird for you… I mean it’s me and well… your brother and…”

“I guess a little.” He admitted softly “But I promise that if you need anything… I’ll try to help you as long as I’m around.” He amended the last part to suit the fact that he may well be forced to leave all his friends quite soon – even if it was for their own good, he didn’t want to make a false promise to her that he would always be there. Newt felt a sting of pain and guilt shoot through him at the idea that if Theseus reacted in a characteristically pig-headed or stupid way to this then Tina might be left in a very difficult situation. He tried to console himself with the knowledge that she would still have her sister and Jacob to look out for her – and Percival too if Newt managed to keep them all safe from Grindelwald’s reach. _Big if._    

“Thanks Newt, it feels good to have someone to talk to about this. I would’ve told Queenie but… well, she isn’t the best at keeping secrets of being subtle about these sorts of things.”

“It is likely that her first reaction would be to start listing names and making baby clothes.” Newt conceded and Tina giggled again, nodding emphatically along with the conjured mental image before smiling off seemingly into the distance. “Thanks for being so calm about this, I think the baby will be happy to have such a practical uncle figure even if Theseus will likely lose his mind over this.”

Newt blanched at the use of the word uncle, as it seemed to only dawn on him then that that was exactly what he was liable to become - _if_ \- when Tina had this baby. Having not considered the concept of a blood family much past his brother in the years since their mother passed away and maybe not even after his father’s brutal death, he hadn’t ever really thought about the possibility of being part of an extended family. Even after Theseus had gotten engaged to Leta, the concept of children never seemed to come up as neither ever discussed it front of Newt – whether purposefully or not – and the young magizoologist hadn’t ever really considered much of the idea himself. Now until more recently when the subject of Percival’s mother worrying about grandchildren had arisen and even then, it had been in an abstract, fictitious form. Newt found that it added a new dimension to his plans for the future – gave him a new and more concrete base on which to build his resolve to keep Grindelwald imprisoned. If he had any say in it – which he most definitely did as of that moment – he wasn’t going to let a niece or nephew of his be brought into a world where someone like Grindelwald could roam free and continue spreading his fascist ideas and own cruel brand of chaos. Although he also had to factor in the potential that if Grindelwald didn’t get the Elder Wand then Theseus, Jacob or Queenie could be next on the list of people that the dark wizard killed. He couldn’t do that to Tina either.

Maybe it was best that he left. Got away from those he cared about so that no more lives could be ruined because of Gellert, himself or the Elder Wand. He had to get himself as far away from them as he could and ensure that the Elder Wand remained somewhere it couldn’t be used to harm anyone ever again.           

 **A/N – Heyo chaps, I know there was a lot in this chapter, but it has been one I’ve had half-written for some time and kept on adding to it and altering bits as I went due to unexpected details, rewrites or inspirations so… yeah. As per usual I crave and entirely welcome feedback – the good the bad and the utterly ridiculously brutal! I don’t care if you think it’s stupid or obvious or anything, just fire it straight at me! It all helps in the end.**          


	25. Chapter 25

**“It’s really hard, I can’t cry in your arms ‘cause you’re not here, it’s not your fault, and if it was, I wouldn’t care, my heart is bigger than the distance in between us, I know it ‘cause I feel it beating, s** **o strong it'll knock you down...**

**…Making friends with all the unfamiliar creatures and pushing back on the unnecessary pressure, come up for air just so you know we won’t drown.**

**…Then I'll believe in what you say, there’s nothing left for you to do, the only proof that I need is you.” – ‘Proof’ – Paramore**

Percival sighed for what felt like the umpteenth time since he had returned to his apartment and tried very hard not to hit something. He really should have expected this and cursed himself for not having done so, he should’ve known that his luck would run out eventually, but he had rather hoped that it wouldn’t be at a time when he was feeling as emotionally and physically drained as he was now. The day of endless seeming paperwork, arguing against numerous officious fools insisting that he should step down from his position and the continued obstinacy of Vinda Rosier in his attempts to gain information from her, capped off by the harassed, heated events that occurred between him and Newt left him craving his own bed. Not even mentioning the strain of the Legilimency session and the distress he felt from seeing how Newt was existing within his own head – trapped between crushing waves of darkness on all sides. Percival had been fully prepared to down a few glasses of Fire-Whiskey and collapse onto his bed for as long as his turbulent mind would allow, but the universe, it seemed had other ideas.   

The very last thing he needed now was a visit from his mother, yet that was exactly what he got.

He had arrived back in his apartment through the fireplace to find the lights on and the form of a handsome older woman dressed in a sweeping black shawl and deep violet dress robes sat imperiously upon his couch. Of course, his first reaction had been to draw his wand in preparation for conflict before he had recognised the tight bun of steel grey hair and sharp emerald eyes and sighed in resignation, stowing it back in its holster and going straight to the drink’s cabinet. It had not only been out of his own desire for a drink to help himself cope with her abrasive nature but because she too had a taste for the finer elements of a good whiskey and would accept nothing less than the best that Percival had. One of the few things they had in common aside from blood and the pallid complexion.

The conversation had been forcibly polite and meaandering, as if they were two colleagues conversing only to pass time before they could be elsewhere, he did get along with her for the most part but he had no patience for her usual swooping pattern of hovering about a subject until she eventually deigned it time to land upon it. It wasn’t out of any desire to prolong the conversation or avoid the subject due to awkwardness on her part but more a long-honed skill of shrouding her intentions and central focus from those she spoke to. It was painfully transparent after all this time and Percival eventually snapped under the pressure of a long day and broke his nearly hour-long trend of answering in noncommittal gestures and monosyllabically civil replies.

“I’m sure we both know why you’re here, ma, and I would appreciate it if you could cut to the chase. Its been a rather long day and I simply haven’t the patience.”

She frowned severely at him, having just paused in her drone on the affairs of Percival’s cousins’ academic prowess to sip at her drink but after regarding him disapprovingly for several moments placed down her glass and coughed in an elegant way. The way she often did when she was attempting to refrain from becoming outwardly angry or crass as her coarser lineage might oblige her to. “Very well, Percy, as you are no doubt aware from my letters, despite your deliberate ignorance of them” Her gaze flickered over to where her letters lay upon his desk, opened but mostly disregarded under several quills. “I have become aware of the relationship between you and one… Newton Scamander?” She said the name as if testing out the syllables on her tongue, raising an arched brow in question and Percival nodded very slightly in confirmation, she too nodded in her own affirmation and continued. “And I was wondering just why you thought I didn’t have the right to know about the first person you’ve showed anything more than a passing interest in; something that wasn’t merely a fling intended to shame the family…or is this yet another bid to do so? Is this young man a delinquent as the papers would have the public believe?” Her accented voice was clipped and tight with annoyance.

Percival had to work very hard to school his expression into one of blank indifference instead of irritation at his mother’s blunt, unjustified words and traced a finger carefully around the rim of his glass which sat nearly empty on the arm of his chair. “He is no delinquent, a little… eccentric perhaps but he’s a good man… one of a kind I’d wager.” He tried to keep his assessment of Newt lacking as much of the deepest fondness and oddity he found so endearing about him but couldn’t help the tender smile that graced his lips as attempted to find the adequate words to describe his partner.

His mother’s eyebrows raised when she noted this, a delicately incredulous expression upon her face before she spoke. “Eccentric? I’m assuming that’s cause of his… obsession with magical beasts that has brought him to such fame?”

“In part.” Percival hedged, eyes tracing the liquid swilling in the bottom of his glass with memories of Newt’s warm, often painfully awkward smile and unique Scamander-blue eyes flickering the contrasting environments of the various enclosures – changing from greener to bluer to more hazel shades depending upon the light. So different from his brother’s simply in the lighter elements and the wildness that bled through even when he was expressing not much at all.  

His mother rolled her eyes “So what’s wrong with him then?”

Percival gritted his teeth a little against his building frustration and willed himself not to snap at her again “What makes you think there’s something with him?”

“The fact that you’re refusing to tell me anything about him at all.” Her Mid-Ulster accent broadened noticeably when she grew impatient and it was just so now, she placed her glass down on the table beside her, primly in the centre of a coaster so as to not ruin the woodwork. Her green eyes were earnest now as she leant forward in her chair, shawl flicked back irritably onto her seat. “You know I’m not really fool enough to be taken in by those fecking idjit reporters that print whatever they think will get them readers. I wanted to hear the truth from my son, can you really blame me for that?”        

At his mother’s sudden sincerity Percival released another sigh, this one more rueful than weary or exasperated, placing down his own drink. “No…sorry, ma, I’m just concerned enough about Newt as it is at the moment, he’s-… he’s been through a lot and I didn’t want to add the strain of meeting the family onto everything else he’s dealing with.”

Her expression softened then, emerald eyes glimmering with surprise and something else he hadn’t seen in quite some time “This is the same young lad who stood up to that deluded fascist bastard in New York? The one who got you out?”

Percival started, surprised by her connection of the stories concerning Newt in the Prophet and the sketchy details he had provided in his letters, but then again, he shouldn’t have all that surprised – if nothing else, his mother was exceedingly shrewd. Long years of consorting with the oldest wizarding families both in America and Ireland had taught her much of how to snoop into the business of others and find the truth of things behind the fronts people often put up. It had been what made her so keen on having a say in who Percival socialised with – she wanted to make sure not only that the potential consorts were of the right blood but that they were of a decent sort. Superficial traits aside, there were some things that both could agree upon that made a decent person and thankfully his mother had never succumbed to the popularly held views on Grindelwald’s and his ilk’s views that many other purebloods did. With a family history like theirs, they needed to be more careful than most about who they let in on the inner workings of their private lives – not only for fear of the normal domesticities but for fear of the exposure of the darker elements. The elements that not even Grindelwald had plumbed the depths of in his dismissal of the Graves and Chant lines past their direct relevance to his impersonation. 

He nodded in response to her question however and she seemed mildly appeased “I know you don’t like talking about what happened, but I hope that this Scamander is doing right by you, Percy. You do seem to be doing better even if you’ve been working too damn hard as usual.” Her lip curled slightly as her eyes flickered disapprovingly over his admittedly slightly haggard appearance. “Stubborn as your father was sometimes, but you need to learn that even someone as all high n’ mighty as you needs someone looking out for em’ – you can’t keep on playing nurse maid to the wizarding world forever. Think about yerself’ for once.”

“Yes, ma.” The response was almost automatic and for a moment they shared a brief ghost of a smile at the consistent reflection from his childhood. Whenever she adopted this manner – the coarser, more earnest demeaner, he always knew that it was time that she was genuinely just concerned for him and was quick to agree. He rubbed a hand over his brow, slicking back the loose strands of hair that had fallen forward as they often did since he had begun to neglect cutting it quite as severely. Secretly he knew he mainly did it for the euphoric sensation of Newt’s soft yet work-worn fingers curling through it. (not that he would admit that under any circumstances of course) 

“Are you planning on staying here long?” He ventured and his mother’s usual brisk manner snapped back into place like a mask as she nodded.

“At least as long as it takes for your Scamander to visit.” She tutted slightly, glancing about his apartment, eyes lingering significantly on the doors to his bedroom and the main entrance. “Honestly, I was rather expecting him to be here what with the amount of time The Prophet has been suggesting you spend with each other.”

Percival flushed very slightly then, mirroring almost a Newt shade of embarrassed pink high in his cheeks at the implications, even if there was honestly much truth in it. It wasn’t like his mother hadn’t been aware of much more lewd goings on between him and others before but with Newt there was a certain instinct he felt to protect Newt’s reputation, silly as it may sound.

“Newt is unfortunately under a travel ban due to the happenings in New York last year, so I’ve been spending a great deal of time between here and London. It’s also been part of the ongoing Grindelwald related cases too of course, as there’s been a lot going over there but you’ll probably be pleased to hear that I’ve managed to make some social ties over there too.”

“Oh, you mean with the rest of the Scamander family - that other Director fellow, Theseus I believe?” At Percival’s affronted look she scoffed and shook her hand airily “Oh don’t look so shocked, Percy, you didn’t think I wouldn’t look into the family you’ve put so much interest into as of late? I don’t have much to do in my retirement other than arrange the social lives of the rest of the family and I need to make sure the first friends you make in over two decades are good enough.”

“I wouldn’t call Theseus a friend” Percival huffed a bitter laugh “More of a begrudgingly respected colleague. One that may or may not hate my guts.”     

“Well whatever the case, I won’t be leaving you until I meet these new people in your life - especially this young man of yours.”  

Percival massaged the area of his head where he could feel a steady ache forming and paused for some time before nodding “I’ll have to check when’s convenient for Newt, I have mentioned you before so don’t be too surprised if he’s a bit… skittish.”

She barked out a laugh “Been filling his head with nonsense then, have you?”

Percival smiled thinly “Nothing of the sort, ma, I would just appreciate it if you didn’t do the usual routine on him. I’m pretty sure that Reith girl you tried to saddle me with didn’t stop crying for a good twenty minutes after you practically interrogated her.”

Her smile was equally thin but still rather self-satisfied “And damn right too, the girl was a weed, barely able to say two words without bursting into tears. Terrible wife material.”

Percival shook his head, draining the last of his glass and moving to stand “If you’ll excuse me, its been a long day and I think it would be a good idea if we both retired for the night.” He glanced over to the second bedroom door and opened it with a wave of his hand, briefly looking inside to check it was in adequate condition despite its lack of use and turning back to nod to his mother. “There’s towels in the bathroom and spare blankets in the cupboard if you need them.” She nodded dismissively and he paused at the door to his own room, looking back over his shoulder a little awkwardly before saying “Goodnight, ma.”

“Goodnight, dear.” She replied firmly as she headed to the bathroom, clicking the door shut behind her as Percival did the same with his bedroom door. He paused behind it for a long moment, rubbing a weary hand over his face before undressing, slipping on his nightclothes and sliding into his bed, grateful for the thick comforter and expensive material of the sheets. As much as he appreciated the hominess of Newt’s place, he had a feeling that it was more due to the Magizoologist’s presence rather than the rather rundown state he kept it in. The couch on which he had spent a handful of nights since their semi cohabitation had begun so many months ago was one that had required several spells to prevent it from giving him permanent back injuries as well as to stop the damn thing from collapsing. Even sleeping with Newt had not had quite the same relief as his own bed, for as comforting and welcome as Newt’s presence had been, it was all the more disconcerting when he disappeared.

He couldn’t put a figure to the true extent of how much he detested having to unwillingly share Newt with Gellert fucking Grindelwald, not only in terms of vying for his affections but having the simple pleasure of sleeping beside him. Percival knew that Newt hated the dark wizard, of course he did – how could he not - but the way he spoke about him sometimes… the fact that he used the man’s first name and didn’t even flinch when he used it anymore…it was worrying to say the least. He supposed that, as Newt had pointed out, it was perhaps better that he had come to a sort of middle-ground with his fear and loathing of Grindelwald – less damaging on a long term scale for him maybe – but there was an admittedly selfish part of Percival that wished Newt would react more dramatically than he did. What the sick bastard was doing to Newt wasn’t normal or even vaguely moral; it was utterly abhorrent, and he found himself sort of wishing that Newt would acknowledge that, not just accept it with excessive amounts of self-hatred and guilt lingering in his eyes and words as he did. Percival didn’t know what the bastard was doing to make Newt believe that any of this was in any way Newt’s fault, but he wished there was some way that he could convince the younger man that he was blameless in all of this. That Grindelwald was manipulating him, and that Newt shouldn’t feel the need to hide any of it from Percival, that he shouldn’t blame the deaths of others or Grindelwald’s mania on himself.    

But none of this would fix itself overnight. He knew that he had to be patient and work on the issues with Newt as slowly or deeply as his partner would allow him to, there was no use in trying to force Newt into anything and Percival wasn’t going to stoop to Grindelwald’s levels to do something like that. Granted, he sometimes lost his calm with Newt, but he always tried to soften the verbal blows as much as he could when it did come to that. He pushed the thoughts from his mind eventually after they spun in seemingly endless circles for an untraceable amount of time, lying on his side in his dark room and he finally managed to find rest. Whilst it was currently only early evening here, he knew it was nearly midnight in England and he had been jarred from the constant switches between daylight and night-time at times when his body believed it to be the opposite. Instantaneous travel between continents was all well and good but it had no less effect upon him in terms of being thrown off, but then again Percival had always been able to sleep under almost any circumstances. Not a deep sleeper mind you; his instincts and paranoia didn’t allow for that, but he had been on enough stakeouts to be able to sleep whenever his body demanded it – not just when his mind told him that it should be according to the rising and setting of the sun.

When he awoke again, the clock of his bedside told him that it was just after six in the morning but he felt better than he had so rolled out and prepared for the day, dressing with his usual care and intending to take advantage of the empty bathroom when a call from the kitchen area  interrupted his surreptitious journey. He winced slightly and turned to see his mother standing by the counter, looking decidedly out of place with a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. He recognised the label as being a bakery two blocks down and raised his eyebrows at his mother’s initiative in venturing out onto the streets of New York alone before he had even woken. She was fully dressed, black shawl draped over another set of dress robes, this time in deep blue and proffered the bag in his direction with an imperious gesture.

“Morning, Percy, breakfast?”

The image was so decidedly bizarre – his mother offering food that hadn’t been made by a House-Elf that he simply stared for a few moments, hand still frozen on the door of the bathroom. She tutted and placed the bag back down on the counter and Percival shook some sense back into himself, giving her a brief nod before heading into the bathroom to complete his morning routine. Once finished, he exited to see her still stood by the counter though now with an empty cup clasped loosely in one hand.

“Morning, can I ask why you got breakfast… quite so early?” He tacked on the last part simply to hide his utter astonishment at her adherence to a more traditionally mothering role after years of asserting herself as an upper-class witch from her more common roots.           

She sniffed a little disdainfully as Percival dug into the bag, eying the Eccles cake and bagels a little dubiously before taking a bite of the latter, nonetheless. He had no reason to be suspicious though, the wards upon every home he had ever owned were specifically designed to protect the occupant and since Grindelwald’s invasion he had made extra such precautions to include spells such as the Thief’s downfall. The woman opposite him was undoubtedly his mother so there was little fear she had decided to poison him unless he’d really managed to piss her off more than he had imagined by delaying his response to her letters. Unlikely… although not impossible.

“I was expecting that as you would be likely working today, I might pay a visit to your friends to occupy myself whilst you were busy.”

Percival blanched and put down his pastry. “I’m not sure if that’s the best idea, arriving unannounced into Newt’s home as a perfect stranger probably isn’t the best first introduction.”

She arched an eyebrow at him “Well if you refuse to make one...”

“You’ve been here for all of a few hours and you expect me to have already introduced you. I feel like this is more than your usual brand of paranoia, ma.” He fixed her with a knowing look “What is it that’s got you quite so worked up about this?”   

She sighed sand seemed to relent then “The family is concerned, Percival, between your…indecision and your cousin Lorcan’s lack of any damned interest in anything that isn’t himself, we’re getting concerned that the _untainted_ bloodline is going to end at you.”

Percival sighed, rubbing his temples as he prepared himself for the same debate that he had gone through more times than he could count over the past twenty years or more. “Nothing has changed since the last time we had this conversation, I don’t give damn about the Graves bloodline and while I know that you promised father you would do your best to keep it going, I see no reason why I should have to compromise on everything I value in order to do so. Lorcan will learn to grow up eventually, he’s only twenty yet, there’s still plenty of time for him to grow up and stop being such an ass.”      

“Like that’s ever gonna happen.” She practically snorted and Percival was tempted to agree – his younger cousin was an insufferable little shit; obsessed with gambling, work and fucking his way across the continental US. As much as Percival held a little respect for his prowess in the fields, he didn’t at all appreciate the lack of subtlety or care he put into any of it; the boy was a selfish, entitled thug. But in the face of convincing his mother of the subject he didn’t comment, and she sighed again.

“I hate to be the one to say this, but settling down, even briefly with a much younger man – a Brit and a weird one at that. One that knows more about the sort of thing that could sink our family… someone who has precisely no social standing but still has the ear of the public with his _beast-talk_ and doesn’t give you any chance of children isn’t exactly what we had in mind when I let you have a bit of room to decide these things on your own.”

“For the love of-” Percival was cut off with a clout to the side of the head from his mother and he looked at her, affronted at the repetition of an action she hadn’t partaken in since he was maybe sixteen. He took a deep breath, gritting his teeth at the absurdity of how his mother had the ridiculous ability to make him feel like a damnable child again from the way she behaved – he was a senior Auror and well past the stage of being considered anything near a child. “This is my decision and as much as I would like you to respect that, I’m going to stay with Newt whether you approve or not. I trust and care for him regardless.”

He’d always been taught to be stoic and polite by all members of his immediate family but now was not exactly the time when he thought that her approval on his love life was the most important thing going on. It was far from it in fact. He had a job to do, peace between the wizarding and No-Maj communities to maintain, a dark homicidal wizard to suss out and a sweet, stubborn magizoologist who was stuck in the middle of it to protect. The petty worries of his family about the Graves’ bloodline and the family secrets were not something he wanted to waste time indulging his mother in - the only reason he had so thus far was because as much as they disagreed, he still loved her. She was his mother, of course he did, but he wasn’t going to just stand around and listen to this drivel when there were considerably more important things at stake. Even discounting the threat to the peace Grindelwald still posed, one of the pressing issues for him personally still lay within the bastard’s influences upon Newt and having left things in a less than ideal situation the last time he’d seen him, Percival felt the need to return to him more strongly than ever. In an effort to present some sort of middle ground however, Percival sighed and regarded his mother with a forcibly tolerant expression.

“I’ll arrange it as soon as I can, but in the meantime, I would appreciate it if you stayed out of sight as much as you can, don’t make yourself too conspicuous while you’re here. I’m returning to London on business anyway so I’ll ask, but I can make no promises.”      

She looked minorly appeased and he took this as acquiescence, moving to collect his coat and scarf from the rack, slipping them on over his customary dark suit before heading back over to the fireplace. He fixed her with one firm look before he left, intoning as respectfully as he could but still feeling somewhat as if he were telling a dog to stay. “Be careful when leaving or entering here from now on, its not safe for anyone in this climate, especially not for anyone connected to me. I’ll see you later.”

She nodded primly before Percival disappeared in a swirl of bright green flames. The familiarly unpleasant sensation of Floo-travel engulfed him briefly before he reappeared in the customary musty and lightly spiced scent of Newt’s home. The smell of slight neglect and the fresh aroma of cooked food sweeping over him in a wave after the smoky smell had dissipated from his nostrils. The living room was empty, but he could hear voices coming from the kitchen that indicated that Newt wasn’t as alone as he had been when Percival left, he tensed momentarily before he recognised Tina’s dulcet tones. He entered just as the door was opening, Tina and Theseus looking at him in pleased surprise and resigned affront respectively.

“Morning.” He greeted them before noticing the clock and amending “Or rather afternoon.”

“We were just leaving.” Tina hastened, gripping Theseus’ arm even as the other looked somewhat mutinous, eying Percival with a shade more suspicion than usual. Percival stepped through the doorway and bid a half-hearted wave to both as they left, the front door shutting firmly behind them before the faint crack of apparition was heard. Newt was stood by the table, charming the last of the dishes into the cupboards before glancing over his shoulder to see Percival, as if noticing him for the first time despite his less than silent entrance.

He looked tired, not that was anything new, but the dark circles ringing his eyes and the tight set to the lines of his shoulders and face indicated a deeper tension than usual. Percival sensed instantly that there was something amiss, that Newt was going to bring him news that most certainly wasn’t of the positive variety an inwardly sank a little at the thought of things worsening since the last time they spoke. The only thing he knew that could have likely caused such consternation overnight was the one thing that he had little control over – Grindelwald.

Newt was shifting from one foot to the other, looking as if he wanted to simultaneously sit, run and pace himself ragged but instead seemed to settle upon expelling the nervous energy by beckoning the Auror as he descended the stairs down to the cellar through the open door. Percival was tempted to question the slightly erratic behaviour judging by the set and pace of Newt’s gait, but he saw that the young magizoologist was clearly intent upon something. Percival had to jog to keep pace with him and still lost him for a moment or two once he veered off underneath the culmination of the staircases into his odd little working space. When he rounded the last step and approached the still in motion Newt, he saw the younger man fiddling through his shelves, looking for something specific if the indiscernible muttering was anything to go by. Percival halted a few paces behind, watching indecisively as Newt fumbled for a few more moments before withdrawing a stoppered, full bottle of greenish-blue liquid, the Auror was about to question its purpose before Newt abruptly unstopped it and the distinctive smell hit his nostrils immediately. Wide-eye potion. And it was then that Percival’s patience wore out then as he stepped forward, grabbing Newt’s wrist in a firm grip, Newt looked up at him in surprise and carefully extricated himself from the grip.

“Calm down, Percival, I know what I’m doing…or at least at the moment I do.” He looked almost as uncertain as Percival felt and took a quick swig of the pungent liquid before Percival managed to wrest it from his grip, pulling it away and placing it on the counter behind him, placing himself firmly in front of it.   

“Damn it, Newt, what are you doing? You know how dangerous this stuff can be and from what I’ve seen its not likely to make a difference to your…situation either.”

“I-… I don’t know what else to do at this point… I need something to-…” Newt’s expression was desperate then, the calm façade bleeding through with fear that had Percival even more concerned, taking his partner by the arm and guiding him towards the shredded leather armchair nearby. He sat, but only perched himself on the very edge, as if afraid to relax and Percival hovered just in front, brows furrowed deeply and eyes dark with apprehension.            

“Newt, just calm down, take a breath and tell me what happened.”

Newt did as he asked but looked no calmer for it, a wild, barely contained panic simmering inside him that had Percival’s every nerve on edge just witnessing it. “I need to stay awake as long as I can and I’m running out of ideas. I can’t explain why but please… just trust me Percival, I need you to do something for me.” His sea-blue eyes were wide and imploring and it drew Percival’s response from his lips before he could even consider what would merit this kind of desperation from Newt.

“Of course.”

“I need you to lock me up. Not in the Ministry or MACUSA or anywhere near people, just… just make sure that I can’t get out. Throw everything you can at it. _Please_.”

Whatever Percival had been expecting, it hadn’t been that and his confusion doubled, brain swirling in anxiety as he caught Newt’s wrists in a firm but gentle grip again, pulling them away from where they had been rubbing seemingly frantically at his eyes. They were red-rimmed and wide with an earnest plea, so much so that Percival understood the urgency without knowing the reasoning behind it. Newt was clearly scared - damn terrified of something and if Percival was going to bet any money, his bet would be on a certain sadistic fucking dark wizard.

“What did Grindelwald say? What did he do this time that’s got you so worked up?”      

Newt flinched at the words in his grip, eyes darting about, pupils fully dilating as the potion began to take effect on him, nervous, jittery energy seeming to practically roll off him now with every breath he took. “I-… it doesn’t matter really. I just need you to trust me – believe that I wouldn’t ask you to do this unless I truly had to.”

“I trust you, Newt, don’t doubt that, but I need a bit more to work with here. Are you in danger? Did he threaten you?” Newt looked hesitant, eyes skating over Percival with indecision and concern heavily prevalent in them. Percival’s expression steeled in response and he eyed Newt carefully, spoke slowly. “He threatened to hurt me, didn’t he? Or all of us? You’re worried that he’s going to do something if you tell me what’s wrong?” The young magizoologist didn’t respond verbally, instead merely inclining his head in a minute nod, unsure of even whether to make such a gesture and Percival felt further frustration flow through him. “There’s no harm in telling me here and now is there though? I can protect myself against any of his minions and as long as we warn the others-”

Newt cut him off with further desperation clouding his wide blue-green eyes, he spoke hard and fast – like he was terrified he’d be stopped if he paused for even a second. “It’s not his followers you need to worry about – it’s me.”

“I _am_ worried about you, Newt, its why I’m trying to get you to tell me what the hell happened!”

“No, I mean that _I’m_ the danger to _you_. Lock me up, _please_ just do it.” He was clutching at Percival’s sleeves now, uncaring of how tight his grip was, eyes slightly unfocussed seeming in their wild panic. His muscles seemed to be twitching, violent little movements beneath the skin as his body seemed almost at war with itself.      

“What do you mean? Is he forcing you to do something for him?”

Newt tilted his head “Sort of, I don’t know, I guess so, but it’s not what’s important. You need to do this or something bad is going to happen. I would explain better – I want to, but I don’t think he’ll let me.” His eyes flickered with something hopeless then and it tugged hard at the strings of Percival’s heart like nothing else. He regarded Newt for a long time, considering him and the little he knew or could guess of the situation. When he finally spoke, he did so with slow, sure clarity to ensure that Newt wouldn’t misunderstand or become even more agitated than he already was – if that was possible.

“I’ll do this for you, Newt. I will, but once I have, I _need_ you to explain what is going on.”

“You can’t be anywhere near me, it's dangerous enough you being here now. I don’t know how much time I have or if I have any at all, but you need to really throw everything you have at this. Don’t hold back because you think it would hurt me or because you think it would be too much – trust me, it won’t be.”   

As much as Newt’s words were digging into him like blunt, serrated knives, Percival nodded – trusting that his partner wouldn’t ever ask this of him unless he had to. Trust that Newt knew what he was doing any that it wouldn’t result in his own death. If Grindelwald was involved, then he could see the potential necessity in doubling any precautions, but it didn’t mean that he had to like any of this. The idea of locking Newt up was horrible enough in itself but leaving him alone as the younger man was now requesting him to do and in this state was almost too much for him. He scoured his brain for a suitable solution – a place where he could do this and still leave Newt in some semblance of comfort but also keep him securely confined… when it eventually hit him, he could have groaned at the bloody typicality of the most efficient solution.  

“Fine.” He found himself almost snapping at Newt, but the younger man didn’t look upset by the harshness of his tone, instead looking painstakingly hopeful, pushing himself to his feet.

“You’ll do it?”

“Yes, but only because I trust you to know what you’re doing and believe me, the moment I find a better solution, you’ll be out of there before you can blink.”

“Doesn’t sound all that secure to me.” Newt quipped, tone tense and Percival’s glare melted away the pathetic attempt to lighten the mood quicker than Newt’s small, forced smile could form on his lips. “Sorry, I just… I need you to do this and I don’t know how much time I might have or what I might do to try to stop you and I need you to promise me that if I try to convince you to not do this or if I attack you or offer you anything you won’t accept it. Don’t trust anything I do or say after this, especially if I lose consciousness at any point. If it comes to a fight, just get out, don’t bother trying to stop me unless I try to hurt anyone else.” His eyes hardened then, chips of ice seeming to float through the wide-blown pupils as he regarded Percival with utter resolution. “If I try to hurt anyone, you must stop me… no matter what. Do whatever it takes.”

Percival was frozen in a moment of horror at the cold tenacity he was witnessing then, despite the confusion and the multitude of questions roiling within him, the Auror sensed that at least for the time being, they should remain unasked. Newt was at a point of clear determination and desperation that he had never before seen in the younger man and he wasn’t going to discount his wishes in what Newt seemed to be treating as a brief period of lucidity. He could find his answers once he had done what Newt asked, once the Brit was in a position that he felt he could act safely. Whatever was going on now that prompted Newt to think that he couldn’t trust himself or that he thought he might hurt his friends was enough to convince Percival that it must be a necessary evil. Despite the compliance he was prepared to give to Newt’s request to be locked up, Percival knew with utter certainty that even should Newt’s fears prove to be well-founded and that he would become violent, there was no way he could ever kill Newt. Whilst the words were not spoken aloud, the implication had clearly been there in his words, his tone and his intense, almost unwavering gaze. He couldn’t do that; not even for Newt.       

Preparing himself to make a promise he knew he could never keep, Percival swallowed and nodded – breaking his own prior oath to never lie to Newt in that moment but sensing that the magizoologist would accept no less. “I swear that I won’t let you harm anyone.” He silently added ‘including yourself’ onto it to himself but left it at that and gestured towards the stairs, Newt following him with determined steps, but his eyes swept about the place and creatures with obvious reluctance.  

“You _will_ explain this to me, Newt, we don’t have to be in the same room for that to happen so whatever you’re so damn scared of happening probably won’t. But I need a little confirmation on this.” He saw Newt consider it from the corner of his vision up until they reached the top of the highest staircase and then he nodded resignedly. A thought occurred to Percival then, one that was no more comforting than the rest of the utter bilge swilling around inside his head at the recent turn of events but found that he was obliged by common sense to voice it anyway. “If you need to be locked up so badly then why not ask Dumbledore for help?”

Newt looked uncomfortable then, more so than before and paused for some time before replying “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to ask him once I’m… restrained already but I doubt he would have agreed unless I explained and I’m pushing my luck just telling you a little of it now. Not even sure if it’ll help as much as I want it to but it’s the best plan I’ve got.” He looked painfully dejected; resigned to his own fate but fighting against something apparently much worse. “It would take too long and there are…complications to consider with him and… well its just easier this way. I was hoping that you would trust me enough for this to work and I don’t think Albus would’ve.”      

“If you’re sure.” Percival said, stopping just outside the front door where they could apparate from and eying Newt carefully, the younger man having seemingly been distracted with every detail around him until they left the house. It seemed like he was trying to absorb every sight and smell of his surroundings – as if was wasn’t expecting to come back and for as many warning bells as it sounded in his head, Percival gritted his teeth and prepared to keep his promise. “You’ll be breaking your travel ban so this will likely get your brother riled up, you could risk getting arrested - are you still sure about this?”

“Yes, yes, just don’t tell me where we’re going. In fact, it would be better if I didn’t know anything of it all, makes it more difficult for him to- never mind. Just… please, Percival?”

Percival’s already massively strained sense of obligation and tolerance almost broke right then and there but he saw the look on Newt’s face; the fear, the tension and the plea for trust that had got him to agree in the first place and cursed under his breath colourfully. Cursing Newt for his evasiveness and damn undeniable face, cursing Grindelwald for whatever the hell he had done to put Newt in such a state of desolation and decisiveness in the first place. And cursing himself for not being able to do anything but agree to Newt’s requests. He trusted that Newt had good reasons and as much as it was obvious that he was doubting himself on a larger scale, the man in front of him right now was clearly completely sure of his intent. Despite the new levels of raw emotion that he was reaching, Newt was most definitely himself – not leading Percival to believe that whatever sick, confusing games were being employed right now were the intentions of Grindelwald directly. No, right now he felt fairly certain that Newt was just doing whatever he could to combat those plans – whatever they were – and that his aggravation and resolve was stemming from a place of good intention.  

He wracked his brains trying to think of a way in which Newt locking himself up with Percival’s help could benefit Grindelwald but past the possibility of the dark wizard having escaped and wanting Newt practically gift-wrapped for him when he arrived, he came up mostly blank. Even that scenario seemed unlikely as there was no reason for Percival to become involved in such an endeavour – surely because the sadistic bastard would be more than capable of imprisoning Newt of his own volition. With no solid facts to go on and the impression that Newt was more scared of him hurting others gave Percival little surety to work upon, but he forced himself to trust Newt and looked upon him once more before he pulled off his own scarf. Newt looked at him with some uncertainty before Percival lifted it up to hover in front of Newt’s face and he twigged on, jaw tightened slightly but nodding hastily.

There were any number of charms that could have achieved a similar result but Percival felt hesitant to mess about with Newt’s senses using magic so instead resorted to using something that would not only fulfil Newt’s wish to not know where they were going but to leave a little of himself with his companion. The scarf smelled of his own cologne and he hoped that when the time came that he had to lock Newt up, it would bring him even a little comfort or familiarity. The young magizoologist often seemed to enjoy burying his nose in Percival’s neck whenever they were intimate, and he had noticed that it always seemed to calm him a bit if he was in a period of unsurety. Whenever the flashbacks and memories seemed to overwhelm him and he looked uncertain as to whether Percival was who he appeared to be, he often resorted to such methods. Hopefully it would help now too.

Once Percival had finished tying the dark blue-grey material around his partner’s eyes, he fixed his destination into his mind and with a sigh of resignation, gripped Newt’s hand firmly in his and apparated. The cold wind was quick to buffet them, and Percival inwardly cursed at the shivers that instantly wracked Newt’s frame, the younger man having forgone picking up any extra clothing or even his coat to cover himself in his urgency. The track along to the imposing grey slate-roofed building was long, muddy and partially waterlogged even at this time of year, but there was nothing for it but to guide the young magizoologist with a firm grip on his shoulders and hand. He had clearly placed his trust in Percival wholly and despite the apparently dire circumstances, Percival found himself feeling a slight warmth flooding his heart that after everything he had been though – what Grindelwald had exposed him to using his face – that Newt was allowing him this kind of control.

Percival took great care in guiding Newt through the partially submerged terrain of the track with a slow and accommodating pace until they reached the black lacquered, weather-worn front door. He didn’t pause to admire the endless seeming stretch of empty moors and blank grey sky around them and fixed his mind solely upon the task at hand. Percival was careful to keep one hand gripping onto Newt’s even as he was required to press one against the dark wood surface in order to gain entry. There was a hum of magic as the wards tested and then accepted his admission into the house and he breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled Newt’s chilled form through and into the hallway. There was a screech of magic that flung itself towards Newt before Percival stepped in it’s way, quickly intoning the required spell to override the presence of a stranger and gently squeezing Newt’s hand in reassurance.

“Sorry about that, security measures and all.”

Newt shook his head silently, lips pressed into a tight white line, standing with slumped shoulders and an unconscious seeming bob to his head, face turning this way and that as if trying to gauge the room even without his sight. Percival was tempted to remove it but decided against doing so at least until he had fulfilled Newt’s request. He paused for maybe a minute, reaffirming the long neglected wardings on the house and feeling pleased to find them all still intact and sound, adding a few more stringent spells for good measure before stowing his wand back away and leading Newt back down the darkened corridor. The Auror ignited the burnished wall sconces as he went with a wave of his free hand, lighting the way as he reached the first step of the numerous staircases that led downward.

He had never had much reason to use this room and it wasn’t the sort of place that one would particularly visit on a mere whim – much like the house itself, it was meant as a last resort, a safety precaution that would protect the occupant as well as those that resided outside it. For the first time in his life, Percival found himself feeling glad of his family’s obsession with image alongside their severe paranoia and history of immensely powerful magical though admittedly also cursed bloodlines. Guiding Newt down the spiralling staircases took a longer time as he had to pause on a number of occasions to catch Newt as he stumbled on the uneven, chipped out stone steps, long gouge marks taken out of some of the lower steps and even parts of the walls. He got the impression after a while that Newt was becoming aware of the dubious purposes of the place he was being taken, likely both from the clear imprints of claw marks his fingers found along the wall and probably also from the smell that grew in strength as they descended. The scent that steeped the history of the darker elements of the Graves line for generations, even if it was now perhaps being used to an advantage past the bestial hereditation. If there was anyone who would recognise such a stench, it would probably be Newt.  

Percival stopped finally at the door and he felt guilt eat further at him as he felt that what he had previously passed off as shivers of cold were actually of distress – he was scared as much as he was determined and it was enough so that Percival couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Newt, are you sure about this? I know you say you can’t explain just yet but there must be something I can do that doesn’t involve…this.” He finished the sentence a little pathetically, gesturing futilely at the door and the subterranean hole they were about to enter despite knowing that Newt couldn’t see it.

The young magizoologist shook his head, angling his head blindly towards where Percival’s voice sounded and setting his shoulders as firmly as he could in a seemingly bolstering motion. “I’m sure, at least for now, until I can think of a long-term solution, but you have to promise me that whatever I do, you can’t let me out. No matter what I say to you… or how much I might beg… you _can’t_.” He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing furiously even if his voice was hard as Dragon’s hide and Percival released a pained exhale, rubbing a hand over his throbbing head. Newt took his silence for hesitation and his hand darted forward to grip Percival’s arm tight, grip almost punishing in his clear desperation and head turned towards him, blindly seeking affirmation of his request. Lips tensed and posture indicating what his eyes couldn’t tell. 

“Yes, alright, but as soon as you’re in there I need you to tell me what this is actually about. Newt, I need this to make some sense to me or I can’t promise I will do it.”

“I’ll try, I promise, just please do it.” He paused, throat bobbing furiously again before he spoke in a much quieter, hoarser, weaker sounding tone. “I love you and I’m sorry that you have to do this, but it really is the only way. It’ll only be for a while… I hope.”

Percival pressed a brief, fervent kiss to his lips before he withdrew his wand and opened the door with a complex series of motions that swung it open enough to guide Newt through, he drew him to the centre of the room, standing him in apex of the deeply carved prism of runes. He squeezed Newt’s hand fleetingly one last time before he stepped back to the door of the room - out of the runes and breathed in once deeply in preparation and began to move his wand in sweeping, elegant but purposefully precise movements. With each sweep and slash of the instrument the carved symbols began to glow brightly in the near utter darkness of the underground room. What looked to be red dust floated from the very walls of the place as it was drawn inexorably to the carvings and they began to light up all around Newt, leaving him silhouetted in painful clarity against the harsh red light in the circle in the centre of the mass of runes. He was standing as still as he could though Percival could still see a tremor to his limbs that had him feel culpability further clinch through his senses when Newt gasped loudly, feeling the effects of the bindings strongly upon his body and likely his magic too. One arm came to snake around his stomach as if it were cramping abysmally and he let out a low moan before straightening again after a few more tense moments and the glow fading down to instead be a subtle red glimmer in the prismatic runes on the floor and walls.

Having not placed the wards himself before, Percival had a moment of uncertainty, concerned that they hadn’t quite worked as they should have or that he had accidentally hurt Newt in his inexperience of the old family magic. The magic wasn’t meant for entirely human beings and it could just as easily cause problems for not being used for its original intention. But then Newt offered a weak, blind smile in the same direction he had been facing when Percival left him in the room and seemed to relax a little.

“I’m not going to ask what in the name of Merlin that was or why you have such… thorough restraints so readily at hand but… thank you Percival.” He paused, hands flexing in a clearly nervous gesture at his sides and Percival ached to just rush forwards and pull the visibly frightened Brit into his arms; get him the hell out of this blasted prison and its long and bloody history. But instead he restrained himself and resolved to instead get his answers as he finished the last of the safety measures; Newt had asked for him to not hold back and while he was hesitant to even do this much, he knew that Newt wouldn’t ask for such treatment on a mere whim. He began thatching together a web of the most complex and simultaneously non-harmful wards as he could, flinching every time Newt did but steeling his resolve as the younger man didn’t once cry or request that he halt in his work once.  

As he continued his work, he addressed the Erumpent in the room “What did Grindelwald threaten to do? Why is he making you think you need to do this?”

Newt flinched a little more violently, both in reaction to the question and the latest ward it seemed but he also appeared to be relaxing a little into the web of wards that Percival was weaving – not like he enjoyed it of course, just as if some tension were being drawn from him with each restriction. “He… finally told me how he’s been communicating with his followers - why they seem to be under the impression that he’s free.” He paused then, as if unsure, covered eyes instinctively tilting his head towards the ground at his feet and Percival tensed, pausing in his spellwork for a moment.

“He’s loose?” His voice came out harsh and tense and Newt was quick to shake his head, even if he simultaneously shrugged in a non-comforting way.

“No, no, well… yes, sort of…his physical body is stuck in that cell as much as it ever was.” He paused again, raising his head as his lips tightened again “Why’ve you stopped?” Percival gritted his teeth and continued his casting, Newt seeming to relax a little into the spells once more even as Percival’s hands began to shake lightly under the strain and infuriation.

“So, what the hell is that meant to mean?”

Newt sighed, hand coming up fiddle lightly at the edge of the blindfold as if he wanted to remove it but was fighting against himself, muscles twitching under pale skin again. “Ge- Grindelwald has been using my body as an escape hatch of sorts for about as long as I’ve been connected to him – since I came back to London at least. He’s been using the blood-bond in ways I didn’t know were possible to essentially… I don’t know… _possess_ me when I’m asleep and then transfigure himself to look like he usually does to fool his followers.” He sounded very much like he was trying to explain it away in as offhand a way as he could, but Percival could tell from every tremor that ran through him and the tension lined in every visible inch of his face that the very idea had left him terrified.

And Percival could damn well understand why – the rage, revulsion and indignation that rose up within him was likely only a trifle in the face of what Newt was likely experiencing with such a violating revelation. His own shaking hands had to stop in their movements for a second time as the urge to curse something into oblivion nearly overwhelmed him in that moment. He couldn’t risk hurting Newt so instead stowed his wand back in its sheath and curled his trembling hands into irrepressibly tense fists, he only barely restrained himself from unleashing his fury on the nearest wall for the knowledge that as it was heavily warded, it would likely blast him back with enough force to damn near kill him. He forced himself to take several minutes worth of deep breaths in which Newt was oddly silent and whenever Percival opened his eyes long enough to see him, he saw his partner standing in the exact same position as he was before. His lips were slightly parted, as if we wanted to speak but also seeming to realise that Percival needed some time to gather himself and the American appreciated it – he didn’t want to vent his immeasurable feelings of guilt and rage upon Newt. Especially not when he was already so vulnerable and obviously needed comfort – comfort that Percival couldn’t give physically and so instead resorted to using his words once was surer that he wouldn’t shout at the undeserving Brit. 

“What-… how could none of us have noticed something like this? Your brother had an excess of wards over your place and you’ve got a travel ban…how did I not see this happening? Did you know? How long?” The questions streamed from him instead of the reassuring words he had prepared in his head and he cursed himself yet again even as Newt hastened to answer as best he could – seeming keen to placate and inform him as much as he could now that he was in a position where it would be more difficult for him to hurt Percival. A fear that the Auror could now understand with much more clarity than before. He could only add the thought of why Grindelwald wouldn’t have used any of the numerous opportunities to end Percival that he most likely would’ve got. Not only would it likely have devastated Newt and turned him to a position where he might arguably be more susceptible to the dark wizard’s advances, but it would’ve probably satisfied his own hatred for Percival at the same time. The Auror left it unasked in that instance however as he focussed on Newt’s stilted, yet oddly ready replies.

“I only know what he told me, but my best guess is that he somehow managed to do a version of what I did when I hit him before – channelling my magic through his maybe, in order to do what he needed to so that he wouldn’t be detected. I-…I don’t know for sure how long but from what he said it was certainly as far back as the attack on those fanatics in their cells…” His voice cracked a little here and Percival felt his anger go up a notch further than he thought possible at the idea that Grindelwald had forced his demented will upon the world through Newt – leaving the guilt to weigh upon the shoulders of someone who was actually human enough to feel it. Newt continued a few moments later however, bolstering Percival’s pride in his partner for staying so impressively steadfast in the face of the a seemingly endless stream of utter bullshit that was directed his way.

“He told me last night, made me fall asleep right in Henry’s enclosure - didn’t even know that he could do that.” Percival nodded slightly, remembering the young magizoologist curled up against the creature’s side and cursed himself for assuming that the behaviour was normal, even if there was nothing that he could have done to prevent it. “He only made me aware of it now because he knew he could control me, because he needed my consent this time because he wanted something physical from me. He gave me an ultimatum – give him the Elder Wand or he would start... he would h-hurt you, kill you even, using me– my body. that he would make you think it was me and that I-…t-that I wanted to-”

Newt cut himself off then with a dry sob and Percival had to step back then, turning away and moving to the bottommost steps in order to repeatedly slam his fist into the wall. He heard a dry cracking that he was sure wasn’t made by the wall but his hand but couldn’t care in that moment as he repeated the motion twice more, cursing but not crying out even as pain lanced from his bloody knuckles. The Auror heard Newt’s voice then finally, crying out his name for what didn’t sound to be the first time and turned back to the cell entrance to see the man standing, blind and panicked looking, hand reaching out sightlessly in front of him. Percival felt further guilt rise at the thoughtless, detrimental reaction that he hadn’t been able to contain as it had clearly just caused Newt more pain, his lips parted and face pale with apprehension. “Percival!”

“I’m here, I’m sorry Newt-… I… I’m sorry.”

Newt seemed to deflate a little then and lowered his arm slowly. “Please don’t do that again, don’t hurt yourself like that.”

“I… won’t.” Percival breathed out heavily and withdrew his wand awkwardly with his left hand in order to fix the damage to his right before Newt could see it – if he ever agreed to take the damn blindfold off.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t explain it before, but I wasn’t sure if Gellert would let me tell you without trying something and I don’t think I could hold him off even now that I know. He waits until I’m… in a deeper sleep before he takes over, but he can make me lose consciousness at will apparently now so… I can tell that he’s been trying, I don’t… I can’t…”

He trailed off, letting the implications stand open for themselves and Percival murmured his assent. “I get it now, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that this has been happening, that I didn’t notice and that I can’t do anything to stop it.” He couldn’t find the proper words to fully express his regret and anger at the revelations or what he was now being forced to do because of Grindelwald’s deplorable actions. But Newt was shaking his head before the blurred words were even fully from his lips.

“It’s not your fault, Percy, I’m willing to bet he went to a lot of trouble to keep anyone from finding out about this – not even Albus knew and he’s a part of the bloody bond.” He tried for a weak smile then and gestured at wide to the cell he couldn’t see but could no doubt feel humming with power all around him. “Anyway, you’re doing as much as you can now, you’re preventing me from hurting anyone else and stopping Grindelwald from getting the Elder Wand at the same time.”      

Realisation struck the American then as Newt mentioned the wand for the second time and he frowned deeply “How the hell did you end up with the Elder Wand in the first place? I thought that Dumbledore was meant to have it under lock and key to keep Grindelwald in his damn cell!”

Newt cringed slightly “He… I think that he may have distracted me with the Phoenix so that I could steal it for him – I was so engrossed in his rebirthing cycle that at the time I didn’t notice the time lapse but… looking back on it I realise I was probably pretty stupid. He got me to pocket it and then made me sleep later so that I couldn’t give it back to Albus after I _had_ noticed it. I realise in now that I should’ve just given it to him straight away but at the time, I thought it might’ve been him that gave it to me… to keep it safe or something.” He flushed a little then, as if embarrassed by such an assumption. “But I guess it doesn’t matter all that much now… as it stood then I could only see a few paths left to me – give him the wand and assist his escape. Snap the damn thing and either give him the ability to escape or watch Gellert kill each of you and not be able to do anything to stop it. I could involve Albus and risk others being hurt because he wouldn’t help without an explanation that would likely result in the same outcome as the last. And then I thought about this… if I could be locked away somewhere where I could at least not hurt anyone until a better solution could be thought up…I couldn’t see a better choice to stop myself from hurting someone or giving him the wand without resorting to… well… killing myself, so… here we are.” His voice was hoarse, quiet and only calm in the way that a man’s is when he has no tears left to spare or fear left to express in wake of having considered it all a hundred times over.

“I can see why you thought this was a sound choice now I suppose… not that it makes me any happier… seeing you like this.”

Newt offered a small shrug, looking even smaller than before, standing alone and sightless in the empty, darkened room, alit only by the red glow of the magic carvings in the walls and floor around him. “Thank you for trusting me enough to do this before I could explain but… you know what Grindelwald is capable of… if there’s anything more you can throw at me it might be a good idea to do it now.” The grimace on Newt’s face told him that the younger man was no gladder about the situation than he was but knowing now that Grindelwald could potentially use Newt to hurt others when he inevitably fell asleep again, he got why the magizoologist was so paranoid.

“Fine, but… I will do everything I can to get you out of this. I’ll go get your damn teacher and see if he has a way of fixing the mess that he started in the first fucking place.”

Newt chuckled a little though it was an irreparably hollow sound that dug at Percival like shards of broken glass. “Thank you... I’m sorry that it had to come to this but I needed someone I could fully trust to do this… Albus, well, its difficult to know what goes on in his head half the time even with the bond and he wouldn’t have done this without demanding an explanation and even then I doubt…” he trailed off and jerked his head back up suddenly “It doesn’t matter. I suppose he’s the only one who stands a chance of fixing this now and until he does, I need to be under enough restrictions to hold Gellert back.”

“Why do you call him that?” The snappy question left Percival’s lips before he could stop it and Newt flinched, head cocking in confusion before he clocked on a moment later and flushed slightly around the material covering the upper part of his face.

“I’m sorry, it’s just habit, I guess. When you spend so much time connected to someone like this it feels… weird to address them like they’re a stranger I suppose.”      

Percival nodded, unsatisfied by the response that he hadn’t even expected to receive as he hadn’t meant to ask in the first place. He quickly moved to change the subject and withdrew his wand with a heavy heart and hand. “I’ll just finish up the defences if you still want me to…” Percival left the statement open-ended so that Newt could refuse it and half of him hoped that the younger man would just so that he wouldn’t have to see Newt as a prisoner at his own hand. There was a part of him that was relieved he couldn’t see Newt’s widely expressive eyes as he moved to complete the restraints – trying to picture in his mind’s eye that it was in fact Grindelwald that he was restricting and not just his sweet, blameless Newt.

It didn’t help though as the magic-repressing manacles fixed them around Newt’s wrists and ankles, clinking into life as they were summoned from upstairs where an alarming assortment of such items resided in a trunk. Though they were usually intended for physically stronger and more volatile forces than Newt he knew that their ability to expand or contract according to the wearer would come in useful should Grindelwald make an appearance in his own flesh. As an afterthought he conjured a second chain series to prevent Newt from reaching up to remove the blindfold, feeling guilty but knowing that Grindelwald was likely to try to take advantage of any weakness he might leave in the defences. The lightly copper toned curls on Newt’s head shifted significantly, flopping into his face in a dishevelled mess as his stance drooped slightly under the weight of the metal, the arguably crude restraints weighing heavier than MACUSA approved ones may have. He adjusted quickly though, clearly not wanting to worry Percival as he widened his stance slightly, squaring his shoulders and rolling his ankles and wrists a bit as if to test the new feeling.

“I-… is it okay, I can loosen them off I you need-”

Newt shook his head hurriedly “No, this is fine. Good enough, I think. For now, at least.” His head tilted again then and Percival felt that he was trying to regard him imploringly even without the use of his eyes. “I’m going to fall asleep at some point, Percy and anything I do or say to you after now… you can’t trust me. Promise me that no matter what happens you won’t let me out or give him the wand.”          

Knowing just how low Grindelwald was willing to go – the depths of the depravity he had already stooped to, it was certainly no stretch of the imagination that he would use Newt and the feelings Percival had for him to manipulate him into doing what he wanted. As much as it pained him to see Newt like this, he knew that letting him go at any point before Dumbledore could find a way to fix this was a terrible idea. This wasn’t going to be easy by any stretch of the imagination for either of them and he was quick to reassure Newt in the only way he could right now. “I promise that I understand the dangers and I won’t let you out until I’m sure you’re completely you again.” 

Newt offered him a briefly watery smile where he stood blind and bound “Try and go easy on Albus will you?”

Percival huffed out an incredulous, pained huff of breath and muttered in a bitterly begrudging tone “I’ll do my best but no promises.”

“Thank you.” Newt repeated, and the words echoed, sounding empty in the room but full in their meaning and Percival promised himself then that he wouldn’t rest until he could ensure Newt’s freedom and peace of mind. He didn’t care if he had to tear apart Grindelwald with his bare hands to do it, but he would make this right again. as he closed and warded the door, he swore that the bastard would pay in some way for what he had done if it was the last thing he did.     

**A/N – bloody hell that was… difficult to write but hope twas okay as it read back.**


	26. Chapter 26

**“** **I know what's wrong, god, you complicated everything, I know you're gone, gone, gone, this is where I will draw my line.**

**…I know what's wrong, god, you complicated everything, I know you're gone, gone, gone, this is where I will blur my line.**

**...you took it all away from me, I know you're gone, gone, gone, this is where I will cross my line.” – ‘From can to can’t’ – Corey Taylor**

**“I'm taking over my body, back in control, no more "shotty", I bet a lot of me was lost,, "T"'s uncrossed and "I"'s undotted, I fought it a lot and it seems a lot like flesh is all I got...must've forgot, you can't trust me, I'm open a moment and closed when you show it before you know it, I'm lost at sea…**

**…it probably happens at night, right? Fight it, take the pain, ignite it, tie a noose around your mind loose enough to breathe fine and tie it to a tree tell it, "You belong to me, this ain't a noose, this is a leash and I have news for you, you must obey me!" – ‘Holding onto you’ – Twenty-One Pilots**

The darkness wasn’t so bad, Newt noticed, it made it that bit easier to ignore the situation he was currently in - the one that he had purposefully placed himself in – the lack of sight made it possible for him to pretend that he had some semblance of detachment from the situation. It helped to know that he was doing this of his own volition and that he was preventing further harm from coming to those he cared about in the process, but it still didn’t stop the all-consuming anxieties from swirling about in his head and in the dark. He couldn’t stop thinking of all the things that were wrong with the situation – that he had been forced to beg the man he loved to lock him up and that he at any moment could lose control of his own body to a sadistic megalomaniac who held an unhealthy obsession with having Newt submit to him.

He found comfort also, in the consolation that his creatures would not find themselves abandoned with Bunty and his friends’ care being almost certainly assured once Percival told them of the situation. He didn’t know how he felt about anyone finding out the truth of the matters between him and Gellert, but he supposed that there was little he could do now but trust Percival’s ruling on the matter. The solution he now found himself ensnared in had come to him briefly before Percival had arrived and his sense of urgency to put it into action had only been fuelled further as he felt multiple waves of tiredness assault him as he did so. It had been easier in a way to resist the feelings when he knew their origin and had suitable motivation to do so – Percival’s presence had both acted as a comfort and as a stimulant for his potent desperation as he fought against the lethargy. Though he realised that the hearty swig of wide-eye potion may have also been a contributing factor to his maintaining awareness.   

The first wave had been subtle and more easily resistible, but by the time Percival had been leading him down the cold stone, heavily scarred steps and into the room – cell, dungeon? – he was in now, he had been struggling to keep his balance. The wardings had done a little, it seemed, to disrupt the flow of magic that had been affecting him and as they were woven around him, he had been able to relax his guard a little. The chains were admittedly more cumbersome and a cause of discomfort than he had perhaps anticipated but not merely on the level of being separated from his magical core or the physical discomfort. It was an issue that stemmed more deeply from the dormant memories of being a prisoner – at Gellert’s mercy and unable to do anything to defend himself. Though the bonds now represented the opposite; that he was able to fight against the dark wizard’s schemes even when most decisions were taken from him. The room he was in was cold and despite the lingering body heat and comforting scent the scarf wrapped around his eyes provided, he was still shivering a little. There had been a temptation before Percival had left to ask for something to put on over his shirt and waistcoat, but he was already suffering enough of the guilt from the pain in Percival’s voice that he didn’t wish to cause his partner any more. He greatly admired the restraint and calm in which Percival had treated the whole process, but it didn’t stop him feeling resentment flow anew through him at being forced to ask this of him in the first place.   

But as time flowed on, as the cold ache settled into his muscles and the lack of sight lent to boredom and growing space for his festering thoughts, Newt found himself only growing more restless despite the encroaching lethargy still being forced upon him. He had dropped down onto his knees after what felt like the first few hours, though, of course he couldn’t be sure and the empty void that had previously been a comfort slowly became yet another itch of past distresses. There was part of him that felt the ghosting of unwelcome, cold fingertips on his exposed shoulder blades, along his arms, across his throat and trailing over his face but each time he did, he shook himself free of the delusions. Newt could tell that they were merely lingering traces of his past fears that were resurfacing in the resurgence of his imprisonment, he was just imagining it and though it felt like some small comfort to think that for once his fears were entirely grounded out of the realm of reality – it had been too long since he could claim that. Gellert seemed to have an indescribable way of making the impossible happen and things he thought were his only tainted imagination come to fruition.

Newt shifted awkwardly upon the floor, trying to find some position that would alleviate the painful imprints he could feel digging into his skin from the restraints but only succeeding in rubbing that bit more before he settled down again. He wasn’t sure how long he had been in there or even how much longer he would need to be before a solution could be found – it could be hours, days, weeks, months or he could be trapped here indefinitely. He trusted Percival’s assurances that he would do all he could to help him overcome this, but at the same time he knew that as Albus was only apparently part way towards a solution for the bond when they last spoke, there wasn’t likely to be much he could do once he incorporated in this new factor of possession into the already complicated matter. There was no doubt in Newt’s mind that the bond had grown much more inexorably and intricately already than was safe and had done so well past a point where the solution would be simple. Judging how the last attempt to destroy the bond had gone, he couldn’t imagine that any further methods would be without risk or likelihood for imminent disaster.

He could only pray that whatever happened, his creatures, friends, family and poor Percival would remain out of it, and the only thing he could do to prevent said involvement was exactly what he was already doing; staying put in this chamber. He could sacrifice his freedom for them, even if it was only a temporary measure and until he could be sure otherwise, Newt was going to just endure the waiting as best he could. The young magizoologist forcibly diverted his mind from trying to figure out where he was, as it would only prove detrimental to the whole effort but his couldn’t stifle the things he had already noticed about the place. Like the cold wind and swampy terrain outside or the long walk down into the room… or the unmistakable smell of Wolfsbane combined with the distinctive scratches that littered the walls he had clung to on the way down. Without even putting a trace of thought into it, Newt could tell that Percival had been concealing something from him and though he knew it wasn’t wise to linger on such thoughts now, he carefully stored away his observations for a later, more appropriate time.

Try as he might to resist it, he felt his eyelids growing heavier with the endless seeming passage of time – not at all aided by the lack of sight or activity and he repeatedly found himself jerking back awake as his head began to droop. Fortunately the clanking of the chains helped a little to act as a warning whenever he began to drift but eventually not even that could act as a wakeup call and he felt himself falling again. Though he felt the familiar sensation of falling from one reality to another he didn’t regain his sight as he had somehow suspected he wouldn’t, he could still feel the manacles clamping his wrists and ankles to each other but it seemed that the anchoring chain that had been holding him to the ground was gone. The blindfold remained in place and while he was loath to remain sightless around Gellert on top of his bound state, he daren’t attempt to remove either lest the dark wizard take advantage of it somehow. He supposed that it made sense in a way that even when bound, his body would emulate the state it was in when he fell asleep once he reached the cell. He supposed that there might be some way he could figure out how to control the transferences as Gellert did, but he was disinclined to do anything that could potentially further the bond or make his situation worse than it already was.           

Instead, he stood blind and standing gracelessly with hands cradling one another in front of him, wrists and ankles connected and praying that Gellert hadn’t somehow found a way to overcome the wards again. The thought sent his head into dizzying spirals so much so that he was sure that if his eyes were open and uncovered, he still wouldn’t be able to see regardless. The only reason Newt knew that he had in fact changed locations aside from the customary falling sensation was the sound of soft breathing from nearby which after a few seconds of his arrival was disrupted by an equally quiet set of incredulous sounding chuckles. He forced himself to not shudder too noticeably in response, but he couldn’t help shifting nervously on his feet, a light clinking accompanying the movement that barely masked the sound of approaching footsteps. The subtle thud of thick-soled leather boots on stone sounded impossibly loud in the silence of the cell and whilst Newt’s instinctive reaction was to remove the blindfold and move away as far as he could from Gellert, he resisted the temptation. There was no point in negating the efforts Percival had made by reversing them now simply for his own comfort – as far as he knew, Gellert was still being held by the restrictions that Dumbledore had placed upon him. All he could do was try to unnerve him. _Too bad that happens to be Gellert’s speciality._       

“For as much as I disparage your Percy’s integrity, I cannot fault his efforts to do what you ask of him.” The words were amused, light - delighted even, and sounded from directly behind him, the steps not stopping however and instead moving about him in tauntingly slow circles. “Nor can I fault your ingenuity in coming up with such an intriguing solution to your little conundrum.”

Newt gritted his jaw, swallowing convulsively, heart thrumming hard against his ribcage at the proximity of Gellert in his bound and blind state, heavily resisting his fear-fuelled urges to attempt to free himself. _Take solace in the fact that even when he takes over, he won’t be in an easy position to hurt anyone but you._ He did, but it didn’t stop him shivering or feeling waves of old, _bad_ memories worming their way to the forefront of his mind and neither did it stop his voice tremoring slightly even in its harshness. “You didn’t leave me much choice, Gellert. I’m not letting you anywhere near the wand or anyone I care about.”

“Of course not, Liebling.” His tone was patient, patronising and Newt felt him step closer behind, face hovering by his ear in a hum of the displaced air between the skin and his lips. “Such a shame that you think so little of me to believe that this would stop anything.”

Newt’s throat bobbed noticeably as he swallowed again, lips pressed together tightly before he replied in as strong a tone as he could muster. “It only needs to delay you until Albus can get to where I am, then I’ll be just as trapped as you are.”

“Granted, Albus can do more than your dear Percy, but the true power of my restraints lies within the very object you are trying to keep from me.”

Newt felt his heart jerk and clench in his chest and tried to ignore how desperate his voice sounded, even to his own ears. “He can stop you. He will.”    

“Perhaps he can, but in the meantime, are you really willing to spend your days alone in the cold and the dark… afraid that if you try to seek out the comfort of your dear Auror I’ll make him wish he’d never laid a hand on you? The only company you’ll have is me and as much as I _relish_ the idea, I don’t believe that you would appreciate being held captive and isolated from almost all that you love just as I have.” Newt could practically see the repulsively fond smirk that that his voice then and shuddered all the more because of it. “ _Almost_ , Liebling, but not all.”

Newt squeezed his eyes shut, pressed the nails of his trembling hands into the flesh of his thighs through his trousers in a vain attempt to stop them shaking. “I’m willing to do whatever I need to protect them and to stop you from hurting anyone else. I’d rather know that you were stuck just as much as I am.”

He felt breath tickle the back of his neck, raising the hairs there as if in further protest of the proximity. “As much as I trust your obstinacy enough to believe that is true, I know that you would rather it didn’t have to be that way. Do you really think that if you should be stuck here indefinitely that Percival will spend the rest of his days waiting for you? That he’ll trust Albus enough to find a solution to your little predicament? Because from what I’ve seen, I don’t think he either has the patience or the faith in Albus’ avoidances as you do.”

The thought closed up Newt’s throat in the implications that he had not yet considered in luau of his hope for a quicker solution and the larger, more potentially catastrophic consequences of Gellert’s possession of him. What would this mean for Percival? If Newt was stuck in here indefinitely? He knew that Percival’s trust in Albus was already skating on millimetre thin ice and if Dumbledore found that the process for fixing this or even attempting it was going to take longer than was practical… well, as much as a small part of him selfishly wished Percival would wait for him…the more sensible part of him knew it wasn’t fair on either of them. He couldn’t expect Percival to potentially wait for years for him to be safe to be around – for him to keep him imprisoned and alive for the foreseeable future in… wherever the hell he was. Granted, for all he knew, Dumbledore could have a solution within a matter of days rather than the timespan that Gellert had implied but the uncertainty of the matter and the capability Gellert held for enduring planning made the whole situation that more difficult to predict.

Newt could only hope that he could hold Grindelwald off for the time being; leaving himself unconscious here and permanently aware of Gellert but also not slipping into that space that let Gellert take control. But that right there was the more pressing issue than the potential collapse of his and Percival’s future together – the fact that if Newt wanted to keep Gellert here and away from control of his body until Dumbledore could assure the security measures – then he would have to stay aware and present with Gellert as he was now. There would be no escape to that deeper place of rest, and he knew that he couldn’t do so forever, but with the way the passage of time was distorted here he couldn’t tell when it might be safer to give in. He couldn’t know when Dumbledore had arrived or enforced further protections, but he also couldn’t keep aware indefinitely; not only for the unbearable exhaustion it would cause but also for the barely together calm he was maintaining. He couldn’t keep up ignoring Gellert’s attempts to unnerve him whilst bound like this but neither could he remove the restraints for fear of making Gellert’s escape attempts more fruitful. Newt was in a corner from which he couldn’t see any palatable way out.  

Gellert spoke again after an incinerable amount of time, the barrier spell still thankfully functioning prominently as Newt could feel the tell-tale shimmer of magic alighting the senses along his neck, shoulders, arms and back. “I’ll take your silence as an encouragement, then shall I?” His manner became sympathetic then, soft and coaxing. Newt didn’t move or speak. “I don’t want this to be harder than it needs to be – I wouldn’t wish my own fate on anyone and as much as I admire your… initiative in thinking up such a strategy I’m afraid that it prevents nothing.” His tone hardened, sounding more genuinely contrite rather than slightly mocking as it had been moments before. “I may not be able to harm anyone physically from in this rather… suspiciously convenient and ready cell…” He let those implications hover for a moment before he continued. “I need only wait until dear Percy returns and begin retracing old patterns so to speak.”     

Newt swallowed past the lump in his throat finally and gritted out in a hoarse voice “He won’t let you out, Gellert – he knows what you’ll try to do. He promised not to trust anything he thought I said, and he will see through any pathetic charades you try to pull.”   

He heard a breath of amused laughter that tickled his neck again in contrastingly pleasant and unnerving tingles. “Don’t be so quick to assume that I can’t fool Percy into believing that I am you. Fooling him once before was nessacery but these more recent times were..." He paused, as if favouring the words on his treacherous tongue for a moment before continuing. "...a _pleasure_...I know you both far too well for you to honestly believe that I didn’t test out my little façade a few times already.”

“W-what? You said you didn’t hurt-”

Gellert cut him off with a low, amused tutting sound “And I spoke the truth but I never told you that I didn’t…experiment a little with it to see how far I could take the ruse and I must say that I was a little disappointed in how poorly your besotted Auror did in recognising a man he professes to love.”

Newt clenched his hands hard around the chains, wrapping them tight around the links until he couldn’t feel his hands anymore. Anger was gradually overtaking the fear now – outweighing it in the wake of the idea of Gellert pretending to be him to prove some pathetic point to himself about Newt’s relationship with Percival. “What did you do?”

“Just a little conversation, nothing so intimate as you seem to assume.” He could hear that same shit-eating grin in his voice again as he stepped closer still. “Though I can’t say that dear Percy wasn’t more… welcoming than I had perhaps intended to extend the invitation of. I have to admit I surprised how…reactive your body seems to be to the slightest touches from him.” His tone was a tad bitter but still held the smug, taunting element as before and Newt flushed in humiliation. “But from your lack of experience aside from Percival and a fraction of my own fullest attentions I could forgive your physical…overreaction.” The breathing behind him grew heavier then, pants of sharply metallic and Juniper laced scent enveloping his senses and heating his skin. “You don’t know any better after all, do you, Liebling?” The words were practically cooed into his ear and Newt turned then, abruptly and blindly but silently furious. He could feel the breath directly on his face now, the tingling intensity on his skin telling him that Gellert was barely an inch from contact. But still he didn’t stop his taunting.

“Your dear Percy doesn’t seem capable of telling the difference between you and me when we both happen to be wrapped up in the same pretty little package. Now, I’m no expert but that doesn’t seem like the mark of a man who truly loves you does it? If he can’t even do that then what makes you think he’ll be willing to ever let you out of your own little cell? Maybe he will just decide to follow his old patterns and move on with you out of the way. Fool that he is.” His tone was consoling again then. “But you needn’t mourn his loss for long at all, sweetness, I’m right here and for as long as you keep yourself from others to keep the wand from me, it will just be the two of us. Just as we were meant to be.”     

Whatever Gellert was trying to attempt with the insidious taunts was anyone’s guess but if he had been hoping that they would draw Newt into the idea of being with Gellert instead of Percival he was going to be sorely disappointed. Disregarding every last one of his more prevalent instincts that told him to shake off the words and ignore him he found his frustrations overtaking him in one furious wave as he brought his previously chain wrapped, almost numb hand up to grasp at Gellert’s throat. An instinctive, primal, furious desire to simply _shut him up_. It was only the blazing silver magic that consumed his left hand that allowed him to not be repelled by wards as they broke through for the second time in his life. The reaction had been nothing like he’d ever experienced before - the murmured notions, the strain of his fear and sensory deprivation, his vulnerability and the words that hit too close to home all collected into one uncharacteristically violent reaction. _Theseus and Percival seem to be rubbing off on you, don’t they?_ He didn’t see the reaction, but he felt it ring through both in the bond and through the markings engraved into his flesh, the young magizoologist stood there, blind still and shaking even as the bonds clinked against one another. Newt felt the surge of adrenaline leave him feeling cold with dread at what he had just done, even as his hand stayed fixed around Gellert’s throat. He wasn’t exerting much pressure at all - not as Gellert once had upon him - he could feel the skin under his hold, warm and soft, but the grip tightened of its own accord in a subconsciously livid response to the knowledge of what he had just inadvertently done.

His sight was suddenly returned to him a moment later as Gellert’s hand tugged away the material of Percival’s scarf from his eyes and he blinked, overwhelmed by even the low-level light after so long in the dark. His wide, terrified eyes adjusted quickly however, darting over the appearance of Gellert in front of him – smug, incensed and even exhilarated by Newt’s reaction. His lips were curved in a same smirk that Newt had imagined to be on them, and his mismatched eyes were alit with satisfaction, flicking from Newt’s own, to his grasping hand and back again a few times before settling upon his eyes again with a glimmer of victory. He didn’t seem the least bit scared by the fact that Newt’s glowing silver hand was gripping his throat and Newt felt a pit in his stomach deepen immeasurably at the realisation that this was probably exactly the result that Grindelwald had been seeking with his taunts. His hand felt frozen, as did the rest of him for a long time before some semblance of sense returned to him in a swift blow and he wrenched his hand back as if burned.

It was then that he took in the change in appearance of the cell walls, they were no longer surrounded by a box of dark, mostly featureless stone of the Nurmengard variety. No, the room was circular, the floor gently sloping to the centre of the web of prismatic runes that formed the spot where Newt was stood. The glowing red lines of deeply carved symbols in the floor and walls were what made him realise that they were no longer in Nurmengard but back in the room that Percival had bound him in. He only recognised the difference because the glow of the runes when they were activated had been bright enough to penetrate the tiny holes in fabric of his blindfold. The subtler red luminescence clued him in that somehow the bond connection had been reversed and Gellert was now physically in the same place that Newt had been.  

Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no…      

“Thank you, Newt.” He smiled like Newt had just handed him the sun and stars themselves. “I was beginning to wonder what it would take to elicit a proper reaction from you like this.”

“Y-you… you bastard.” Newt managed to choke out, hands going to instinctively strain at the restraints fixed to his wrists, cursing himself, Gellert and himself all over again. How could he have been drawn in so easily? He knew exactly what Gellert was capable of doing to get what he wanted and the potential dangers of the silver magic but had slipped in a moment of weakness and ruined it all anyway. He could only hope and pray to whoever or whatever higher powers that happened to be listening that Albus could get to him and prevent whatever Gellert’s immediate plans were. Not only in larger terms for the wizarding world but also for the fact he’d just released Gellert into the world beyond his own cell and he was eying Newt with satisfaction beyond anything he ever wanted to see from the dark wizard.

He tried to back up but found that the chains at his ankles hobbled his attempted steps, causing him to stumble and would’ve fallen backwards if it weren’t for Gellert’s pale, strong hand darting forwards to grab his own. The elder wizard tugged him upright and pulled him forward in an almost swinging movement to press tight against his chest, he was frozen in shock for a moment before he began to struggle, pushing at Gellert’s hands with his own chained appendages in frantic, clumsy movements. Gellert merely smiled wider, tugging Newt closer with one hand in his and the other snaking around the younger man’s waist. He felt his pulse thrumming like the wings of a Fwooper through his body, every nerve alight and anxious terror swamping his mind as Gellert’s head ducked forward in the unwanted embrace, lips grazing his shoulder.

“I’ve missed this.”

Newt jerked as if shocked and pushed harder at the tightened grip, leaning himself as far from the other as he could in the hold. “Get off me, Gellert.”

He chuckled against his shoulder, breath humming through his thin shirt but relented a little by withdrawing his lips from Newt, drawing back to face him properly, fingers caressing softly over his hipbone and the other hand stroking a thumb along the side of Newt’s scarred hand. He shivered in revulsion at the replicant of the softer, grounding gesture that he often relied upon the memory of with Percival. Whether it was deliberate or not, it tainted the action with Gellert’s unique brand of malicious delusion.

“You always manage to surprise me. I wasn’t sure that you could quite muster the courage to do it but… here we are.” He sounded delighted, almost breathy with some twisted sense of pride in both himself and Newt. “I wonder if this changes your preference over remaining here until Albus makes an attempt to remove the bond?” His tone was sardonic but laced with inquisitiveness all the same.

“You’re still trapped. Your magic is still bound and you’re just in another cell. This doesn’t change anything.” Newt’s voice came out in hard, fast, stumbling words that still managed to sound firm despite the clear vein of fear running through them. He was saying them aloud just as much to convince himself as he was Gellert, but they did help him a little in consolation even if he knew that on a personal level he was still in far too deep.    

“True, but it’s only a matter of time before _someone_ decides to give in to my requests if past experience is anything to judge upon. Either you’ll cave or Percival will. Do you think that he will appreciate seeing what I could do to you? What you _let_ me do? He’s forgiven you before but how do you think he would handle seeing it first hand? It may be a little harder for him to believe you to be entirely as innocent as you pretend for him.”

Newt couldn’t speak but shook his head mutely in denial of the words, feeling anxiety crush his insides slowly and inexorably.   

“No matter his naivety however, I doubt he would handle watching it without attempting to intercede on your behalf, would he?”

All it would take was Percival opening the door and Gellert could be free. If he saw Gellert at all – let alone doing anything to Newt – he would likely do something reckless to help and then he would be free. Merlin’s beard, what had he done? He felt his body slump against Gellert’s momentarily in defeat even as his greater sense rebelled against the action, the fight was drained from him in the hopelessness and guilt he was consumed by. Gellert’s hip-situated hand slid lower then, fingers tracing carefully over his thigh and went further back to cup the curve of his arse, tightening as Gellert’s mismatched eyes attempted to draw him in. His lips were pressing to the shell of Newt’s ear, teeth tugging lightly before he traced over to Newt’s brow lazily, spreading a burning warmth of contradictory self-loathing and pleasure across with it. Newt pressed his eyes closed in an attempt to block out everything around him – in a vain hope that it would all turn out to be another horrible dream; the kind the normal people might have mind you, not the kind that he-…

And it was then that it came to him.

He could only come to Gellert’s cell physically when he was asleep and even if the situation had somehow been reversed now, surely it would mean that Newt could switch it right back. Gellert could control when he came to him, but this was different – Newt had accidentally drawn the elder wizard to _him_ and that likely meant that he could damn well send him right back. He opened his tainted green-blue eyes in that moment of clarity and met Gellert’s mismatched ones with fierce determination that seemed to shock to the wizard into stilling the lecherous movements of his hands. Newt felt about for the bond that connected them, the strand that glowed brighter between him and Gellert than the one that joined Albus in simply because it had been more used and abused at one end.

Newt mentally gripped the less used end of the thread - feeling it burn slightly in the way of a particularity unpleasant headache behind his eyes and examined it carefully. Newt quickly realised that it was more intricately woven than he had anticipated but saw that each individual strand of the larger weave held a different aspect of the bond in more ways than was possible to entirely comprehend. Instead he focussed upon seeking out the component he needed to dispel Gellert. It felt as though the bond was responding to his need and found himself understanding how Gellert was able to manipulate it quite as readily as he had as he found the right thread and tentatively plucked it. He started the pressure light in case he was mistaken but grinned with savage relief as he felt the press of the other’s body on him flicker away for a moment – Grindelwald fading from the physical space just for a second but long enough for him to feel surer of his attempt’s success.

Gellert’s face creased in a perplexed frown and his groping hand released him, converging upon the one still clasping Newt’s possessively as if trying to focus all his physical solidarity into that one point of contact. But Newt was feeling a confidence fuelling his hope as he realised his own capability and strummed upon the bond thread much harder, seeing the image of Gellert flicker too along with the contact. His expression transformed into an ugly snarl that seemed to radiate both frustration and a malicious form of resignation as Newt prepared to push one last time. “Impressive, Liebling, but your recalcitrance doesn’t buy you or dear Percival any favours.”

He vanished then and Newt gasped aloud, jerking upwards from where he had apparently been collapsed on the floor, the chains clinking loudly as he looked about in desperate confusion. The blindfold was gone but the restraints holding him to the ground as when he had fallen asleep remained, as did the bone deep exhaustion which seemed to have worsened significantly. His vision was suffused the bright white spots and his head swam dizzyingly, it felt as though he had expended the last of his remaining energy on the attempt to throw Gellert out and wondered how in the hell the dark wizard was able to do more or less the same to him on such a regular basis. Newt brought one shaking hand up to brush across the base of his neck where there was a clustered itching, burning sensation making its way across his skin, the probing digits found new, longer lines of silver that were making their way up the skin of his throat. His panicked reaction was slowed by numbed, exhaustion weighed limbs as he scrabbled frantically at the lines that had now spread from where they had previously only encompassed his arm and upper chest but now covered part of his neck and back down the other way, dipping below the waistline of his trousers. He pushed the material aside a little and found with little relief that they trailed only an inch or so down his left thigh and not yet upon his nether regions but even still the progression was… disturbing.

Newt’s hands fell away then, letting the material slide back up to cover him as they patted lightly to the stone floor, every inch of him felt leaden and his felt tears push at the back of his eyes for the realisation that despite his small victory, he had still failed. He had failed to hold Grindelwald back and he was soon going to submerge into unconsciousness again but this time he could feel the deeper drag of the undertow that would allow Gellert control again. Not only that, but he had broken the wards again and as much as he had faith in Albus’ ability to restore them as he had the last time, he wasn’t sure that he could both fix Newt’s mess in Nurmengard and the one that could present itself here when Gellert took control. Either way, there was a substantial chance that the dark wizard could cause harm to either Newt or someone else and it was his fault.

He had let his frustrations get the better of him and he could blame no one but himself for whatever happened whilst Gellert either inhabited his body or potentially escaped from his own cell. Newt did the only thing he could think to do from his helpless position and pressed his nails hard into the metal upon his throat, digging in and gritting his teeth against the pain and flashes of _otherness_ that shot through him like lightning but prayed that the message in his own thoughts or Gellert’s would alert Albus to the danger. He muttered his warning through chattering teeth, curled in on himself and chained still, hoping that Albus could follow his usual pattern of managing to save people from Newt’s mistakes. “I broke the wards. He’s going to get free. Please hurry. I’m sorry…”

The words were mere whispers against the stone, but it was all he could do and finally fell to the encroaching waves of exhaustion and knew no more.      

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The task of seeking out Dumbledore turned out to be more a game of unfortunate timing as when he arrived at the house that he knew the wizard held in the North he found the place seemingly empty and the wards surrounding it impenetrable. He surmised from the lack of response to his knocks and calls for some time that the teacher was likely elsewhere and cursed that the most likely next place to check would be the school in Scotland which would take an irritatingly long time to get to as he couldn’t apparate there directly. However, he found that moments after he had decided to make the journey sooner rather than later there was a crack of apparation from mere feet away and he looked up in hopeful disbelief only to sigh in resigned annoyance as he saw the familiar face of Theseus Scamander and not the wizard he was actually looking for.       

“Graves? What the damn hell are you doing here?”

“Looking for Dumbledore, what else?” He gritted out “I’m assuming you’re here to do the same.”

“Looking for answers as to why my idiot brother has just been detected breaking his travel ban and disappeared off the face of the earth. My first guess was that Dumbledore had asked some secret bloody favour of him again.”

Percival nodded unenthusiastically in understanding and grimaced at the other “Not his work actually, A… situation arose that required me to find somewhere safe to keep Newt until I can find his damn professor and get him to sort out yet another mess that he’s dropped Newt into.”

“What?”

Percival sighed, debating how much to tell Theseus but eventually deciding that now may not be the best time to be keeping the truth from someone who could potentially help find Dumbledore and get Newt out of his imprisonment quicker. He didn’t savour the thought of Newt remaining there for a minute longer than was necessary so decided to explain as fundamentally as he could and put up with any other questions whilst they were on their way to finding a solution. “Look, all that you need to know right now is that Newt needed me to lock him up somewhere away from other people because… well, because he’s the reason that Grindelwald has been able to get his orders out to his followers like he has. The bastard has been possessing him in his sleep and using his body to make his fanatics think he’s free. The issue is that now he’s trying to blackmail Newt into giving him the Elder Wand which will set him free – he threatened all of us to get Newt to cooperate, but he managed to find a solution. He convinced me to lock him up so that he couldn’t hurt anyone but for now I need to find Dumbledore.” His brows furrowed in his furious, forcibly calm summarisation of the situation but feeling the façade crumble under the shared consternation that arose between them. Theseus’ expression held the same rage that he felt within and found himself approving the restraint he was showing by not yelling or cursing something into oblivion as he had been tempted to.

When he spoke, Theseus’ voice was cold, hard and deadly calm “Overlooking the overwhelming stupidity of keeping this from me in the first place, Graves, what exactly do you think that Dumbledore can do about this? He doesn’t seem to be much inclined towards doing anything useful if this has been going on for as long as we’ve been getting reports of Grindelwald sightings.” He was shaking then, rage clearly etched into every inch of his posture “Months, Graves, _Months_ – that’s how long this has been going on and neither of you thought to tell anyone until now? You didn’t think to get anyone’s else’s’ opinion until you had to lock my brother up to stop him from hurting someone? I don’t care how much you think you know what’s best for him – you’re an idiot for keeping this from me this long.”

Percival gritted his teeth, jaw popping slightly with the pressure he was exerting upon it. “I didn’t know! Newt didn’t know! None of us did you arrogant fuckwit. Do you really think that I would keep Newt from getting help if I knew? Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find Dumbledore before its too late. I very much doubt that Grindelwald is going to appreciate his damn escape hatch being shut off from him and I don’t relish the thought of Newt being trapped like this with only Grindelwald for company.” A little of the fury leaked from him into his words before he sighed through gritted teeth and finished, meeting furious Scamander-blue eyes. “My hope is that Dumbledore can offer up some idea of how we can stop Grindelwald getting in control of Newt again before anything worse can happen, now if you want to help me instead of throwing about foolish accusations then I suggest we get to Hogwarts as soon as possible.”

Theseus shook his head then, looking dejected but still furious even if it appeared tightly contained “First place I went after Newt’s – he’s not there. My next guess was here but it seems that he isn’t around.”

Percival felt a sinking sensation in his chest and sighed irritably “Where else could he be?”

“Well depending on how secure you think the place you’ve stowed Newt is, he might well be there already, he always seems to have some damn sense of omnipresence when it comes to Newt.”

“About that…” Percival began but Theseus sent him a sharp look that told him that the Brit was already on the end of his tether and telling him of the true extent of the bond now likely wasn’t the best of ideas. “Never mind, I’ll tell you later, for now I suggest that you follow me.”    

Theseus brows rose in question and Percival shook his head, extending a hand and forearm towards him in solemn invitation “I can’t tell you where we’re going, both for the safety of Grindelwald’s continued imprisonment and for reasons of my own but I’m going back there whether you agree to accompany me or not.” He fixed Theseus with neutral regard and the other’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t want to waste time here, Theseus, either come or don’t. Trust me or don’t, but I believe that you want to ensure Newt’s safety as much as I do.”

Theseus hesitated for some time before reaching forward and gripping Percival’s forearm in a firm grip, the American’s own grip tightening briefly around the other’s forearm for a moment before he apparated. The moor was just as dismal and bog submerged as when he had left but the last of the light was beginning to bleed from the sky now, the brief hours he had been absent leaching the sunlight away as the night approached in its stead. He released the grip on the other Auror’s arm briskly and led the way along the long path as gracefully as he could in the unsuitable though already mud-caked footwear he wore towards the house. After a while he heard the trudging steps of Theseus following him through the ankle-deep slush and bog that had claimed half the path and felt a little of the tension release within him at the smallest trace of faith that the elder Scamander was placing in him now.

He offered no explanation to the other man as he didn’t feel that now was exactly the time to explain the bloody, complex history of the house to Theseus as the man was already hesitant to trust him at all. He was only doing so for Newt’s sake most likely and Percival wasn’t going to strain that temporary confidence further by involving him in the family secrets. Not only for the judgement he would likely pass but for how he would probably then convey the revelations to Newt should he be given a chance – the cell that Newt was now in had historically been used for the imprisonment and abuse of generations of so-called half-breed wizards. He hated the lineage as much as any sane individual would, but Percival knew that Werewolves were already a subject that Newt fought strongly upon and hearing of such abuses taking place in the place he was now imprisoned in would only cause him further distress.

The wardings challenged Theseus in the same way they had Newt’s entrance but again Percival placed himself between the spectral, indefinably dark shape of magic to allow for the Scamander’s entrance. Theseus raised a brow at him but did not comment, eyes hard and intent upon the door at the far end if the corridor that was noticeably made of much sturdier material than those around it – years of Sigils carved into the heavy iron. He briefly glanced back over his shoulder to the British Auror as he approached it, waving his wand to lower the wardings and opening it to reveal the spiralling darkness of staircases. “Don’t touch anything.”

“Dare I even ask what the hell this is all about?” Theseus asked in a droll, tight way and Percival breathed out a sigh of a laugh at the similarity to Newt’s earlier reaction as he began the descent.

“It’s probably best that you know as little as possible right now – the way I understand this possession thing works is that Grindelwald has the ability to completely take over Newt whilst he’s asleep and judging by how long he’s been doing it, I’m guessing that he’s also had the necessity to impersonate Newt on occasion.” The words left a bitter taste on his tongue as he continued to step carefully but briskly down each chipped step. “That means we can’t trust anything he does. He may look like Newt and sound like him but remember that he’s been in Newt’s head for a long time – anything he knows or might pretend to know is just him trying to manipulate us.” He ducked his head to both watch his steps and avoid the contact that fuelled his shame and despondency further. “Don’t let him get to you and don’t tell him anything that he could use against either us or Newt.”

“Have you seen this possession for yourself then?”

“Not yet, but Newt warned me, and I know just how manipulative the bastard can be – I’m just saying that you can’t let your… temper get the better of you.”

“Speaking from experience?” Theseus’s voice was on the edge of mocking but more consumed by constricted anger still as he gestured to the blood-stained spot on the wall near the cell door where Percival had vented his anger and the American shook his head ruefully.  

 “Newt didn’t feel it was safe to tell me about the reasons behind any of this before I had him secured and… well seeing him like this isn’t easy.” He paused just in front of the grilled cell door and regarded Theseus with a reluctant apology plain upon his face. “I wouldn’t have done this if it weren’t for-…he was…he _is_ desperate; he asked me to trust him and I did the best I could to make him feel safe in himself – that he wouldn’t hurt anyone. You know what he’s like when it comes to violence… I think that whatever Grindelwald threatened to do to us scared him, _really_ scared him and I couldn’t say no.”   

Theseus sighed then, looking resigned and wearily furious in equal amounts “As much as I hate to admit it, Graves, I don’t think that you would hurt Newt unless you had to and I can’t see why you would make something like this up. Just… just let me see him.”

Percival nodded, trusting the wards to remain intact as he opened the head-high grill in the cell door that’s original purpose had been to shove slabs of raw meat through to the cell’s inhabitants, the blood build-up and neglect of over forty years staining the metal at the bottom of the little window. The lanky form of the magizoologist was still in there, much to his relief, but whether that form was currently his Newt was another matter entirely. He was curled over in on himself on his knees upon the floor, facing the door but with his head bowed, arms pulled out painfully taught looking to either side by the chains. However, the scarf that Percival had used to blindfold him was noticeably absent and that was what made him instantly tense with suspicion as blue-green eyes came up to meet his own. He glanced about around the area of the cell that he could see but didn’t spot the material anywhere and that concreted his suspicions that Newt had already been pulled into the other place and that Grindelwald had either tempted him into removing it or had done so himself. Either way, Percival realised with a heavy feeling in his throat that the man before him wasn’t Newt.

The most disturbing part of that realisation, however, was that Newt didn’t look all that different – there was no noticeable coldness in his demeaner or any hint of malice in his eyes. He looked much the same as he usually did aside from the circumstances of his imprisonment, though the longer he looked into Newt’s pale, freckle-dusted face, the more he could feel a slight alteration, but he wasn’t sure if it was just because he _knew_ that it wasn’t Newt. The thought had been niggling at him for some time – what if he had been fooled before? What if he really didn’t know the difference between Newt and a homicidal maniac who just happened to be possessing his body? It was a horrible thing to consider but he didn’t allow his indecision or uneasiness to show upon his face as he glared down at Grindelwald – it was hard to do so as Newt’s face seemed to crumple slightly, eyes shining wetly before he blinked it away rapidly.

“Percival.”

The American didn’t respond, merely continued to regard the other coldly; gauging the reaction to test his surety further and felt guilt gnaw a little at him as Newt’s eyes flickered down to the floor in something akin to dejectedness. The manacles clinked softly against one another and the stone as he shifted his position, sitting up straighter and bringing his knees up in front of him, looking like he wanted to wrap his arms around them but was also trying to avoid looking any weaker. It seemed just like how Newt might react to such a situation, but Percival wasn’t going to let Grindelwald’s vast experience of Newt’s responses to misery cloud his judgement here. Newt’s eyes were brought up to regard him again, this time with a little smile pulling at the corners of his wide pink lips.

“You found Albus then?”

Percival considered his response for a few seconds before realising that the other was likely stating his knowledge as fact rather than an actual query. “Not yet, no, don’t suppose you’d be able to offer any insight there, Mr Grindelwald?”          

A hoarse chuckle met his ears and the smile turned less coy and more condescending “Of course I could, but where would the fun be in that?”

Percival gritted his teeth at the confirmation of his suspicions and felt Theseus step up behind him then, tension practically rolling of the other in waves as he too looked through the hatch. Not-Newt’s eyes widened in apparent amusement at the appearance of the elder Scamander and he offered him a thin smile. “Hello there, brother dear.”

Theseus lip curled in infuriation, air whistling in through his nose in a sharp sound “Don’t bother.”

Not-Newt snickered again, shaking his head with an almost fond smirk plastering his lips before he looked up at them both through Newt’s long, pale lashes. “Nothing brings people together like a common crisis does it? I’m sure that Newt would be pleased to see you two putting aside your petty feuding for once. I’ll be sure to let him know - give him your love, shall I?”

Both Aurors’ fists clenched at their sides but neither rose to the obvious bait and instead Percival restrained his irritation to a hard glare to make an appeal that whilst he knew was unlikely to go heeded, he saw no reason why he shouldn’t at least try. “I doubt there’s any chance you’d consider getting the hell out of Newt and going back to your cell without us going to the trouble of finding your ex to drag you back there?”

Not-Newt laughed delightedly at the futile threat, the sound higher and grating than any of Newt’s own “Where do you think he is right now? Our fearsome little Newt did me the favour of drawing Albus’ attention and he’s currently making efforts to bind my body once more after dear Newt broke apart the wards… for the second time I might add.” His smile was salacious and looked all kinds of wrong on Newt’s lips. “One might think that he wants me loose – that he enjoys what I give him that you just don’t seem to be able to.”

“Or maybe you just pushed him too far with all your deplorable bullshit.” Percival ground the words out in controlled fury but didn’t allow as much of his rage to show physically, knowing that any action he took against Grindelwald’s derisions would only hurt Newt. He had to grasp Theseus’ arm however as it jerked almost spasmodically towards his wand sheath and shot him a brief glare of warning that the other heeded with a few moments of deep breaths and seething glares at the cell’s inhabitant.

“How is any of this possible in the first place?” Theseus asked with equally forced calm and Not-Newt tilted his head to regard both with some level of cold amusement.

“It doesn’t really matter _how_ to you, Thee, just that you understand the consequences of certain actions for as long as it is.” Percival winced at the use of Newt’s nickname for his brother as it seemed to aggravate the elder Scamander further. That minor irritation melted away under further dismay at the next words that left Newt’s lips, however. “Newt has already tested my patience enough recently and I’m not feeling particularly forgiving towards your insolence either, so I think a demonstration is in order.”    

The ensuing moments occurred in an unpredictable blur of sickening horror as Grindelwald brought Newt’s right hand up from where it had been lying indolent at his side, part of the loose chain already wrapped about his wrist just above where the manacle lay, stretching out the limb directly in front of him with a sick smile. The next moment he had tightened his hold on the chain and gave one brutal yank upon it that resulted in a loud series of cracks and a very real cry of pain that escaped Newt’s lips. The wide blue-green eyes flooded with tears that didn’t fall but shone brightly as he blinked rapidly as if to withhold them, curling forward around the limb in a protective way and moaning quietly.

“No!” The word left his lips before he could prevent it and Grindelwald raised Newt’s head up, eyes still watering but a sly smile curving his lips as he witnessed the proof of the Auror’s panic. That grin never left as he proceeded to take a grip of the thumb of Newt’s right hand too and jerked it in another nauseatingly cruel movement, resulting in another cry and loud cracking sound. Theseus was raising his wand almost before Percival had registered the movement, but he still managed to wrench his arm down before he attempted any spell – whether to attack, heal or freeze Newt he didn’t know, but any magic that wasn’t Percival’s would react badly to the wards. It would only harm Newt further and he hissed a warning to Theseus accordingly. “ _Don’t_. You can’t use magic here. I’m sorry but it will just hurt Newt more.”

Theseus wasn’t looking at him, instead staring wildly through the bars where Not-Newt was repeating the same vicious process with the first and second fingers of his hand until he unexpectedly stopped. The cries thankfully halting even if the ragged, gasping, sobbing breaths continued, head ducked and body trembling violently, the smirk never ceasing its defilement of Newt’s sweet face. Their eyes met for a few moments in which Grindelwald finally shone clearly through in the expressiveness of the Scamander-blue – the depravity and cold, hard resolve dissolving through the tears. “You know what I want, Percy. Make sure that I get it before I run out of things to break.”

Newt’s eyes rolled back up eerily in his skull then and he collapsed to the floor in a rattle of chains and a thump of dead weight on the stone. Percival’s knee-jerk reaction was to throw caution to the wind and dive forward into the cell to check on him, but he resisted the temptation for the knowledge that this could easily be part of Grindelwald’s plans. He had to practically wrestle Theseus away from the door, waving a hand back at the hatch to shut it as he tackled the other to the ground, pinning his wand arm up behind his back and removing the instrument from his grasp. He gritted his teeth as Theseus bucked upon the steps beneath him but held his grip tight on the other’s arm and his knee pinning the Brit under him at his lower back.

“Get off me, Graves! Get the fuck off me!”

“Calm down. I know what you’re feeling right now, and I understand you’re angry, but you can’t do anything without hurting Newt – your magic won’t work here with the wards in place, so you need to _calm down now_.”

Theseus struggled for maybe a minute more before the fight left him and he sagged in Percival’s grip and he risked loosening his hold after a few moments more, relieved when he didn’t move to stand but instead turned himself wearily to sit upon the steps. Percival leant back onto one knee in a half-crouch on the lower steps – ready to tackle him again if necessary but seeing that the fight seemed to have left him, leaving him weary and miserable looking in his helplessness. Percival knew exactly how he felt but still held onto enough restraint and common sense to know the truth in his own words.

“Fucking bastard… fucking sadistic delusional bastard…” The words were muttered out between heaving breaths from the Brit and Percival merely nodded along with the ineloquent though undeniably accurate sentiment. “Why hasn’t Dumbledore done anything to stop this? If he’s so fucking omnipotent then why hasn’t he stopped any of this from happening?”     

“I don’t know if he can, but he’s our best bet at trying, now if he’s at Nurmengard keeping Grindelwald’s body in check then why the hell was the bastard able to inhabit Newt’s body without him knowing? Surely he’d notice the fact that his prisoner isn’t actually there?”

Theseus shook his head “I don’t know… all I care about is making sure _that_ can never happen again.” He gestured weakly towards the closed door of the cell and Percival nodded fervently, moving to stand but raising his hand to halt Theseus when he tried to follow his movements.

“Don’t try to follow me, Theseus, I’m the only one who can perform magic here safely and besides I don’t think it’s a good idea risking both of our necks by going in there. Newt wanted to be locked up in the first place so that he couldn’t hurt anyone and I’m not letting you risk yourself as well.” At Theseus’ astonished expression Percival released a mildly amused but mostly pained huff of laughter. “I don’t think Newt would appreciate me letting you get yourself hurt.” The humour faded as quick as it came “I’ve already failed him once and I won’t let I happen again.”

“He’s difficult to predict, Percival, save the self-pity for another time and get in there and help my damn brother will you.” The first-time use of his first name was flicked off in a customarily Theseus-like manner with the harsh tone, but the significance wasn’t missed by the Auror all the same as he did as the Brit suggested.

“Don’t try anything while I’m in there. Don’t try to let either of us out – this is blood-bound magic that’ll only respond to me so don’t bother.”   

“No worries there, Graves.”  Theseus replied with acidic humour and Percival offered a grim smile in return before he swung the door shut between them and turned to face the crumpled ball of limbs that was Newt. Or at least had been once. He approached with slow, careful steps, wary of any potential for attack from Grindelwald but was both relieved and worried further as the young magizoologist remained motionless as he knelt to gently roll Newt over to better assess the damage. In the short minutes since said damage was inflicted, the affected wrist and fingers had already swollen and coloured an angry red, tinged with purple around the more brutal areas of the breaks and Percival cursed colourfully under his breath. Even in his deepest state of unconsciousness, Newt’s face was pinched with pain, dark circles still ringing his tightly closed eyes and a constant tremor running through his thin frame.

Percival withdrew his wand from his coat pocket, carefully waving it over the damage in a healing touch, wincing at the crunching sounds that accompanied the fingers resetting themselves and the wrist sliding back in line with the correct bones and muscles beneath the bruised skin. The rudimentary job he had done to his own far less severe break seemed to ache in sympathy to the pain Newt was in even in his sleep and he conjured soft bandages to appear and bind the damaged digits and wrist so that they would continue to heal correctly even should the magizoologist wake. He brushed a hand over Newt’s cheek, wiping away the cold trails of tears there and pushing his messy fringe back from his forehead. The extended lines of silver that were wrapping the lower portion of Newt’s throat caught his eye and his lips thinned into an even more grim line at the implications of such expansion.  

Feeling how cold Newt’s skin was under his touch, he paused, removing his pocket watch and the rest of his pocket’s contents before draping the garment over Newt and then with some regret but equal amounts of resignation, waved his wand at the bonds surrounding the younger man. They detached from the floor and he levitated Newt’s unconscious form up into the air carefully, drifting him over to rest gently against the wall where the bonds melted into the wall behind his head, keeping his arms only slightly elevated but not with enough slack so that the brutal bone-breaking process could continue whenever Newt woke. He was sure that this was just yet another part of the pain Grindelwald was hoping to inflict – that he had to restrain Newt further – but he was trying very hard not to think too long upon just what he was being forced to do. Percival knew that if he let his rage overcome him now, he wouldn’t be any help to Newt whatsoever so finished up his extra precautions, binding Newt’s ankles together directly to one another and resettling the jacket over him before standing and turning to leave with a heavy, leaden, sick feeling in his heart.

It was then that he heard a low, broken moan come from behind him and froze, willing himself to remain calm as he turned back to regard a slowly stirring Newt. His head rolled from one side to another lazily where his chin rested upon his chest and while Percival knew that it would probably be sensible to leave then, he found himself waiting with bated breath as Newt’s sleep-clouded sea-blue eyes flickered open. He blinked bewilderedly, arms pulling unconsciously at the bonds holding him to the wall with another broken groan before he looked up with a cricked neck to see Percival standing before him. Percival regarded him with as blank a stare as he could muster under the circumstances; unsure of whether this was indeed Newt or just another trick to mess with him and cause further pain.

“P-percy?” His name was gasped out in muddled pain as Newt’s eyes roamed from his face to the cell walls to his own bound state before realisation flickered through his countenance and he slumped visibly as much as he was able, his expression crumpled. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… what-...what did he do?”      

Unsure whether he was being duped or not, he relented a little at the genuine pain he could feel from the other; hoping that he wasn’t falling prey to Grindelwald’s sadistic whims again. “Nothing that couldn’t be fixed. Broken bones and talking a whole lot of bullshit.”

Newt nodded, seemingly resigned, even in his apparent despair and he wouldn’t meet Percival’s eyes, keeping his gaze upon where his booted feet were joined together by tightly wrapped chain. “But I didn’t hurt anyone?”

“No, although I had to tackle Theseus to stop him from doing something stupid.”

“Theseus is here?” Newt’s head jerked up at that, eyes concerned as they skated over the door behind where Percival stood.

“Yes.” He replied shortly, hovering in his indecision but meaning more towards trusting him in that moment. “He’s outside.”

“It’s probably best he doesn’t see me like this.” Newt’s tone was stoic but he offered up a tiny, strained smile. “And I find it hard to believe that anything could stop Theseus from doing something stupid – it _is_ his speciality.”

“True, but I think he may have heard that, so don’t hold me accountable for anything stupid he might do when you finally get out of here.”  

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”          

“No, I’d imagine that your dreams are far less pleasant than even that.” He responded, half in bitter acceptance and half in a test; scrutinising his expression closely and feeling a little more affirmed in his surety when Newt’s eyes darkened but not in the malicious way Grindelwald had made them – it was just in that familiar resigned acceptance and drenched in a familiar degree of old pain.  

“You’d be right there.”

“And would I also be right in assuming that it was actually Newt I’m talking to right now?” He hedged and a bitter smile turned Newt’s lips but more in the way of that same resignation than true malice.

“Well I don’t know what I could really say to prove myself either way, but for the sake of trying… I guess… yes?” He sounded so stupidly uncertain that Percival found himself chuckling mirthlessly and decided that only Newt could sound so unsure about himself to answer such a simple question.  

“Idiot.” He murmured and Newt laughed a little, glancing back up at his bound hands above his head briefly in a seemingly dully attentive manner that had Percival feeling the need to offer up an explanation to Newt’s no doubt confused musings. “You-… he broke your fingers, your wrist too and I had to do something to stop it so I-”  

“No, I understand, its okay, just as long as I didn’t hurt you or Theseus.” The question tacked on the end was obvious and he was quick to recover from the interruption and conciliate him.

“Both fine. We weren’t even in the cell, although I may have hurt your brother’s arm a bit trying to pin him down.”

Newt grinned and looked for all the world like a schoolboy in that moment in his exuberance “Now _that_ I’m sad I missed.”

Both then had to stifle a shared laugh as he heard an incredulous huff of breath from the other side of the door and quiet utterance that sounded suspiciously like _“Cheeky sod.”_

He sobered though when Newt frowned suddenly and asked “Did you manage to find Albus? What did he say?”

“No, apparently he’s back in Nurmengard fixing the wards on Grindelwald… he said you broke them.”

Newt looked so utterly shamefaced then that Percival’s faith in who he was speaking to was utterly assured – only Newt could lay such blame upon himself for something that likely even wasn’t his fault. “Thank Paracelsus he got there in time, I thought…” He broke off abruptly, closing his eyes tightly for a moment to collect himself before continuing in a clear, less hoarse voice. “I got angry… and stupid and grabbed him – to try to shut him up.” He quickly added as if to excuse the statement might’ve sounded to the untrained ear. “Shouldn’t have fallen for it but I managed to push him back out – he was here for a little while… in the flesh and I figured that if he could control my comings and goings using the bond then I could too.” He sounded both shamed and a little, tiny bit proud in that moment. “I got him out.”

“Damn right you did.” Percival muttered fervently and Newt offered him a slightly hazy smile. Percival paused then, eyes seeking out direct contact and getting it after a few moments of Newt’s apparent drifting into his own thoughts. “Do you want me to stay? I could wait outside and keep you company?”  

Newt looked sorely tempted for an instant before he shook his reluctantly “I’m not sure that’s the best idea if I’m honest. I used up most of energy pushing him out before and I don’t think he’ll bother trying to hurt anyone – me included – if he doesn’t have an audience. You sticking around will probably only encourage him.” His tone was bitter, but Percival nodded in equally resigned understanding.   

“I’m sorry, I’ll stay nearby from now on… as long as I can, I’ll just be upstairs.” He paused again, eyes skating over Newt’s skinny, though thankfully no longer shivering frame as a thought struck him. “Do you want some food, water? Do you need to use the bathroom?”

Newt flushed a little embarrassedly at the last question and nodded sheepishly, Percival considered for a few seconds before stepping forward and conjuring a bucket, grimacing at the necessity but knowing that Grindelwald likely wouldn’t pass the opportunity presented to him by removing Newt from the cell even for a few minutes so that Newt might use a proper bathroom. Newt didn’t look all too phased but instead met Percival’s eyes with a sympathetic shrug that was awkward due to the position his arms were being held in and Percival was quick to release the chains from the wall. However, he kept his eyes fixed upon Newt’s face - gauging his reactions and consciousness carefully for any signs of change in sentience before he loosened Newt’s ankles too and stepped forward to help him stand.

“Sorry about this.” Newt murmured as he leant against Percival for support, the chains around his ankles hobbling him as he stepped towards the bucket and the Auror shook his head.

“Don’t worry, this isn’t your fault no matter what that deluded fuck tells you.”  

Newt turned his back and fumbled with his trousers to relieve himself and Percival diverted his gaze as much as he could whilst still guarding Newt’s sentience. Likely to cover he sound of urine entering the bucket it seemed, Newt spoke a little louder than before “What did Gellert say to… to get both you and Theseus so riled up?”

Percival clenched his jaw and replied with restrained bluntness “It didn’t take much really, just him trying to pretend to be more familiar than he had any right to… it was more what he _did_.”

Newt hissed audibly as he redid his trousers, almost perfectly illustrating Percival’s point as his damaged fingers and wrist flared in protest at the movements. When he turned, he looked a little doubtful – as if he suspected that Percival was holding back on him and offered a shrug of apologetic indifference. “It doesn’t matter really – he was just trying to get a reaction from us, and I stopped anything from happening that could’ve let him escape.”

Newt looked a little appeased, settling back against the wall as before and rose his arms to rest above him in a silent acceptance of what had to happen, Percival shot him a grateful look as he re-secured him. Hesitant to leave him like this he asked again “Don’t you want anything else? Something to eat or drink?”

“You don’t need to coddle me, Percy.” He muttered with a quick smile and Percival glared reprovingly.

“Basic necessities are hardly coddling, Newt, now are you hungry or not?”

Newt released an amused huff of laughter in apparent acceptance and nodded “Fair point, fine, yeah.”

Percival smirked at the minor victory and went to leave “I’ll be right back, do try not to get possessed by any psychotic dark wizards while I’m gone.”

He paused at the door after opening it to look back at Newt who huffed out another bitter laugh and a weak glare. “Not funny you arse.”

“Who says I’m joking.” He snarked back but sobered as he nodded a brief goodbye to him; wondering if the man he loved would still be there when he came back.      

 **A/N – Sorry but I’ve been struggling with deadlines and writer’s block! Trying to write around bits I’ve got already written.**           


	27. Chapter 27

**“Everyone's too scared to open their eyes up but everyone's too scared to close them, everyone's frightened they don't know what's coming, but everyone's frightened of knowing..**

**…the climb to the crest is less frightening with someone to clutch you but isn't it nice when we're all afraid at the same time?**

**And it's just a ride, it’s just a ride and you've got the choice to get off anytime that you like, it’s just a ride, it's just a ride, the alternative is nothingness, we might as well give it a try**

**…Everyone's trying to stay on the side where the water's just boiling more slowly, frogs in a pot, well that's one thing I've got, at least some of the frogs in here know me.**

**I want you to think of me sitting and singing beside you...the blur and the noise of the screaming can blind and distract you but isn't it nice when we all can scream at the same time?” – ‘The Ride’ – Amanda Palmer**

He could see and hear through the haze of sleep after some time of swimming in it, in the quiet and the dark, but he wasn’t sure which of it was real and what was just his fevered imaginings. The fever of one who had left his mind to simmer for too long and too deeply without paying proper attention to the heat. Newt knew that he had things to fight for, to swim and struggle for, to strain against the pull of the tide that was trying to eternally drag him under like a Grindylow from those depths below him. Long, clutching limbs snaring him as fast as he could fight them off, recapturing him every time he managed to tear free, toying with his freedom as he strived for it with everything that he had left in him. There had and still were spots and shafts of light that penetrated the dark, roiling waters even as now they calmed, even now as they settled in the stillness of lethargy and the stagnation of acceptance. Not even the resigned acceptance anymore – simply an acceptance of what had been for so long, the shock of the horror wearing away and drifting off with the tide to leave him floating in the maintained perdition.

Newt had been in such a state of… whatever it was, for some time now. For as long as he cared to remember, the world before the cell fading away further with each hour and day and week that passed. He could trace the passage of time only by when the silence and stillness was interrupted by almost equally silent but still discernibly different quiet of sleep as that kind of silence was tainted and weighted by the presence of another. But even the presence of one cell didn’t make all that much difference to him in the grander scheme of things – cold stone walls and restraints were still the same thing no matter the company. It began to stop mattering much to him whether the company was of the variety of Gellert or Percival, for that was all he ever got. One deprived him of others because he wanted to and the other did so because Newt had asked it of him. He resented neither of them anymore. He didn’t resent Percival because he was only doing what was right – what Newt had begged him to do. He couldn’t resent Gellert because he had lost the capacity for anymore loathing or shock at the depths of defilement that man was inclined to commit against him. After so long there was only so much emotion left in him – people weren’t meant to feel this much for _this long_ and it seemed a waste of what he had left to bother clinging onto hate when he found the love for his Percy and his friends was worth so much more.

He clung to the memories and fond words and touches as a way of not descending into the same level of depravity that had once consumed Gellert and never really let him go. It was clear – even to his frazzled, abused mind that clinging onto his hatred of Gellert would only turn him into something much worse and had instead resorted to holding onto what gave him hope for a future. The potential that one day he could be out of here, that he would see his friends again, that he could be with his creatures, that he could see the sun and feel the wind on his face as he did long before any of this began. Gellert’s incursions had had him trapped long before he came to the cell – regardless of his physical freedom, he had been ensnared by the lethargy, depression and the paranoia that had him trapped within his home. Regardless of his travel ban, Newt realised that it hadn’t been just the legal restrictions that had stopped him from venturing further out of his front door than his brother’s house – it had been fear. It had been the lingering paranoia that he had refused to acknowledge because he didn’t want to admit his own failings – admit how much what had happened to him had truly affected him. What had still been happening. What now had come to a kind of quiet.

It was a relief in some small way that he wasn’t able to leave this new prison in a more physical way – that he still didn’t have to face up to his dread of venturing out into the wide world for fear of what might lay there. Of the potential for panic that lay within every sight, sound and smell; the reminders of what he was trying so hard to forget. But the entrapment was also another way of forcing him to confront his own repressed thoughts and fears with little else to do. With no creatures, no work and no human interaction outside of Percival and Gellert – two people cemented at the very heart of his issues – he was forced to think on everything he had so far succeeded in repressing. It was probably a good thing – to come to terms with everything that he had experienced with such time and opportunity to do little else – but it didn’t make it any easier. He slowly withdrew from those few that surrounded him – Percival, Gellert and even the exceedingly occasional visits from Theseus through the thick iron door, it had been a slow, reluctant process but it happened, nonetheless. He didn’t obviously rebuff any attempts at affection from his brother or Percival but neither did he feel the affection as he once had – it wasn’t as though the love within him was any less, it just felt as though keeping them at arm’s length was a safer bet. That being in a cage both physically and emotionally to deal with his own troubles was better for all involved. Gellert’s words, as they were wont to do, remained within him despite his best efforts and the thought that Percival could and should do better than him stagnated, festered and grew. That the Auror would be better off if he left Newt to remain where he was – made his life that much simpler and didn’t return only out of necessity to keep Newt alive. That he didn’t have to hold in the massive thorn that Newt had become in his side. He would never say it to Newt of course, or even admit it to himself most likely, but there was no denying that Newt was only making Percival suffer more than he needed to – causing him grief and reminding him of things he would be better to forget.

Things changed little within the cell over the course of months, outside of the minor changes in scenery between one set of stone walls and another – Gellert remained as contrastingly infuriating and caring as ever. Alternating between the now almost predictable patterns of intimacy and something close to kindness and then casually cruel violence. More bones were broken despite the protections that Percival had enforced – a thumb earlier on when his fingers had still been allowed movement, his right knee on one occasion when Percival had mistaken a request for a bathroom break for being Newt’s and Grindelwald had slammed it up into the nearest wall with as much force as he could. The wards had repelled him, and he had spent the subsequent week and a half waiting for fractured vertebrae to heal even with the aid of magic. When Percival had heightened his restrictions and become far more careful in his judgements, Gellert had still found other ways to get to him – had even found a way for Newt to witness what happened sometimes as a helpless passenger in his own body. He didn’t force upon him the awareness all the time – often leaving the pain to wait for him when he woke, but sometimes, he would draw Newt into a hazy state of half-awareness that felt more like a dream than reality. But he knew it too was real; saw the pain in Percival’s face and the horrible helplessness in them both when Gellert forced him to hurt himself over and over. That wasn’t the worst of it though, no, the actions that pushed Newt over the edge were the more intimate and invasive touches that Gellert had him perform on either himself or Percival.

It had been clear that Percy wanted to trust him – believe that he knew the difference between Newt and the imposter but the young magizoologist didn’t blame him for finding difficulty in it. From the backseat view he had been forced to take, he understood how and why the deception worked as often as it did; Gellert – much as he was loath to admit it – did know him better than he ever wanted to confess. He had had long experience of seeing Newt react to different situations and behaviours and had been in his mind for damn near a year, even discounting his usual perceptiveness. It still stung though. Stung both of them more than either cared admitted. It was difficult to find common ground anymore because of the uncertainty – it was worse than the unsurety of the beginning of their relationship as Newt couldn’t simply tick off the worry that one of them was not untrustworthy as being a figment of his damaged mind. The problem was real, and it was him, or rather Gellert, but nowadays that was almost one and the same thing.

Now, as he sat against the wall, bound as motionless as ever, hazy with exhaustion and feeling almost a guest in his own body despite his apparent cognizance, he couldn’t muster up even the smallest of smiles as Percival entered the cell. He wasn’t smiling either – had stopped doing so a while ago and even the ones he had seen before were strained. Newt missed the easiness that they used to have, the way that Percival let down his stern guards around him and found humour in even the darkest if places and said he was able to do so simply because Newt was there. Theseus’ visits had been infrequent - not that anyone offered an explanation to him, but he understood that giving him any information to do with the anti-Grindelwald movements by the Ministry or MACUSA wasn’t a good idea.

He also understood that neither could inform him of the progress of their search for Dumbledore.

Albus had been in the cell in Nurmengard, had fixed the wards – Newt knew that much from his regular trips back as Gellert was still as trapped by the freshly cast wards as ever – but since that mistake nearly three months ago, no one seemed to have seen hide nor hair of Albus. Or maybe they had but didn’t deem it safe to tell Newt of it – it was hard to tell anymore with the closed off, careful way that Percival and Theseus were forced to interact with him. All Newt knew was that Albus never came back to either cell. No matter how much he risked testing the bond between them, digging broken, bloody nails into the silver inlaid skin he could reach from his bound position, all he ever got was forcibly blank senses. Once or twice he got the distinct impression that he was being blocked – that Albus was limiting his senses to prevent himself being discovered and as much as Newt wished he could understand why, he eventually came to accept that Albus must have his reasons. It hurt being left in the dark by everyone around him except for Gellert, he understood the necessity, but it didn’t make it any easier. Newt was used to being treated as an outcast by others – had done most of his life but he had never expected it from those closest to him. Without the trust of his friends and overwhelming ease and familiarity of interacting with his creature friends Newt found it more and more difficult to cling onto what he knew – what he hoped was still there to cling onto. It left him in the unfortunate position where Gellert seemed to be the one thing that didn’t draw away from him; probably just what the wizard had intended all along but it didn’t stop it from being any less true.        

He had been kind. Newt had been forced to admit that early on. For as much as he hurt Newt physically, he was always there to offer comfort – the comfort that Percival couldn’t offer due to uncertainty but with Gellert there was no fear of one not trusting the other. Of course, he knew Gellert’s motivations to be of the darkly deluded sort, but since he had laid his intentions and ulterior motives out in the open there was as if a release of pressure between them. It wasn’t the complicated mess that the situation between them had been initially when the motives had been ambiguous at best and neither was it the dance of deception that it had been since the dark wizard’s imprisonment. No, now that the purposes were clear between them – even if they were deplorably demonstrated – were undeniably easier. He knew what to expect and Gellert’s softer behaviours had admittedly become more welcome in the absence of any surety from others. Not only had Gellert offered him kind words and hushed, lulling refrains sung in low, meandering tones but he had begun to help Newt take advantage of the presence in each-others’ minds they shared. Newt had of course been dubious of letting Gellert anywhere near his mind willingly, but he had soon discovered that Gellert could help him immerse himself in memories of a much more pleasant kind than the reality in which he now dwelt. He helped Newt to explore his memories in clearer detail and lose himself in the shining, golden, warm recollections from his past – hours spent exploring the lands in which he travelled.

The warmth of the sun caressing his skin in the baking heat of Greece as he tracked the rumoured sightings of a Manticore. He hadn’t ended up meeting the elusive creature for himself but had managed to find the tracks and animal carcasses that had indicated its presence and he had consoled himself with the fact that he had deterred a group of hunters that had been seeking it. Instead however, he had found the Graphorn mating pair and that endeavour to unite them had made the journey even more worthwhile when he aided them in the continuation of their dwindling species.  

The biting cold wind that nearly blew him sideways and the knee-deep snow as he cared for the Ironbelly young in the Ukraine during the depths of winter. The large ruby eyes following his every movement as he brought them hunks of hunted deer meat as their parents had been too injured to do it for themselves. The memory was tainted with the sadness and dark, insidious aftermath of the war but also lightened by the knowledge that the dragon young were still safe and happy, long since grown the capability and the adult dragons all but entirely recovered. The cold and fresh mountain air of the memories remaining as a welcome relief from the stale air of the cell in which he now sat.       

A multitude of other moments, destinations and sensations were opened up to him – swallowing him whole in the way they allowed him escape and despite however much he expected to find fault in Gellert’s actions; how much he thought he would find it all to be a trick… he simply didn’t see it that way. He had the access to those memories whether Newt wanted him to or not – the way he helped Newt to explore them was simply a way to help him feel less alone. A way to help them both feel like they could escape for even a little while from the shared captivity. There was a part of him that knew it wasn’t a good idea to place such reliance in Gellert, but that part was overwhelmed by the loneliness, by the need to simply not sit, inactive and hapless for hours upon hours in the cold and the dark. After a while he began to be able to guide himself through his memories, cementing a little of the feeling he had that Gellert wasn’t merely doing this to snoop into his head – instead of enabling him outright, he taught Newt to do so for himself.

Granted, in his bids to ensure his escape, Gellert became no less tenaciously despicable but Newt found himself beginning to sort of understand the desperation that such imprisonment and isolation could do to someone. He began to understand the feeling of being caged and helpless more than he ever had before – had always been a man who thrived in his freedom and withered without it. But now more than ever, he understood the raw desperation that could grow within someone. Newt didn’t condone Gellert’s tactics of course – baiting Percival using Newt’s body and suffering to do so but neither could he entirely condemn being willing to do almost anything he could to get free. He wouldn’t do such things himself – couldn’t in all honesty, but he understood why someone as dedicated to a course and as… flexible in morality as Gellert would resort to such methods. It left the young magizoologist in the difficult situation of empathising with the man causing his suffering and imprisonment – indirectly or not – and feeling pity for Percival for having to play witness to it all. The sufferings and indignities being inflicted upon Newt were having more of a profound effect upon Percival than they were upon the younger man. By this point, broken bones and shattered pride - broken dignity, were things that he was well used to – it made them no less painful to bear of course, but the shock factor was long since faded to the point where the only thing he could focus upon was the effect is still had upon his poor Percival.

Newt had learned to suffer most of the indignities that could fall upon a man – his capacity for humiliation worn slowly away by all the little things; the trust he had lost forcing him to relieve himself and bathe in buckets in front of the man he had once seen himself as equal to. That same lack of trust preventing Percival from allowing him a moment of freedom without either bonds or his supervision keeping him in check and consciousness.                       

It felt odd though, to still think of Percival as being his – of the life they had fallen into together despite the choppy circumstances of what felt like so long ago, but he still loved him. Newt wasn’t the sort to entertain the idea of such feelings lightly and despite the difficult circumstances and the deep divide that had arisen between them, he still held onto the idea that _one day_ it could be like it once had been. That they could be together again with something close to a normal life – or at least normal by the standards of an erratic British Magizoologist and a surly, smitten American Director from an ancient and apparently secretive wizarding bloodline. With all the time he had to himself Newt had of course drifted off to properly consider the circumstances of which the cell he was in had originally arisen – the scarred walls and floors, the protective runes and wardings, the lingering scent of Wolfsbane and blood. It had been a perplexing and disturbing thought to consider why Percival would have ready access to such a place – he wanted to believe the best of him of course but there was a stronger, deeper anger that built in him at the idea that Percival had aided the capture, imprisonment and likely the abuse of Werewolves. He knew that Percival’s family was more traditional in its views upon bloodlines and half-wizard beings and that as Director of MACUSA’s security it would make sense that he might’ve had the occasion to interact with such beings but it made it no less horrifying to think that a building had been set aside with such a specific purpose. And that he was now being held there too. 

He had dared to ask Percival of it at once point but hadn’t received an answer further than a wary glare that had told him Percival had doubted his identity and had promptly left because of it. While he didn’t entirely blame Percival for such suspicion it had still stung and grated at his eternally fraying nerves that he couldn’t even talk to his partner anymore for fear of sharing something that could lead to allowing Gellert’s escape. An escape that he understood the motivation behind now more than likely anyone else would.

The only escape outside of being allowed release by Albus’ arrival and the Ex Machina solution he had become in Newt’s mind was one that was much more permanent. One that he had almost allowed himself to fall into when he was imprisoned and abused so long ago. It wasn’t a scary thought, not in the way it once was, not a surrender or a disappointment or even necessarily an escape, no, now it seemed more like an… inevitability. That strange little word that Gellert had used so many times referring to something quite different but now, to Newt, death seemed like something that he had been evading for a long time. It felt as though the events of the last year or more had all been trickling down to that inevitable end that reached everyone eventually and that everything in-between had simply been a delay – a welcome one perhaps but only a slowing of the inescapable, nonetheless.

If the Obscurus hadn’t killed him then the Aurors should’ve.

If the torture hadn’t killed him, then the recovery period should’ve.

If the bond transference hadn’t killed him, then the aftermath should’ve.

If that hadn’t killed him then the attacks since should’ve.

If the fanatics hadn’t killed him then the head injury should’ve.

If he hadn’t killed himself then _something_ else should’ve.  

It had all culminated with his current situation – the build up of all those things coalescing in the stagnant water he now floated in like a corpse in a bog. The bond certainly wasn’t slowing its progress so why should the inevitability of his end slow itself? The two were intrinsically linked after all, he could feel it now, the little voice in his head, the whispering that had started so long ago, the presence of the joining of others in a way that should never have happened in the first place. The force that had drawn them together whether they had intended it or not had grown in the shadows and now it was killing him.

Percival had noticed it, of course he had, the marks had grown beyond the point where even the most unobservant of people could’ve ignore them and his poor Percival was anything but inattentive. The silver had burned its way across his entire chest by now, encompassing both his back and front along with his other arm up to the wrist. It had spread its way down his legs down to his ankles and up his neck in nearly equidistant fashions, it had begun to burn in a way it hadn’t before and though Newt would acknowledge the deepening of his understanding with Gellert as an effecting factor, he knew that it wasn’t only that that was having such a dramatic consequence. No, as much as Percival had tried to pass the blame entirely upon Gellert’s interference, Newt knew better – he could feel that as much as Albus’ end of the bond was being blocked from him whenever he was trying to access it, that Dumbledore was tapping into the power more than he ever had before. Something had changed in it and just as Gellert had guided him to see his own mind in clearer focus, he had also deepened his own knowledge of the bond after he had first expelled Gellert using it. He saw the threads as the other two did now and while he couldn’t entirely read the intent behind it, he could sense that Albus was manipulating the bond on a regular basis and that whether intentionally or not, it was causing this growth.

Percival had begun to regularly check the growth of the silver markings, an often-awkward experience for both as he had been forced to unclothe Newt to do so whilst he was bound. Not only awkward for the clinical nature in which Percival tried to carry it out for fear of…exciting the wrong person but also because Newt had begun to find pleasure in it himself. This too was something that Percival tried to blame entirely upon Gellert and in this case Newt could partially agree – it was Gellert who had initiated the associations of pleasure and pain, but it was also Newt’s sick mind that had gripped onto it with alarming readiness. It was all the guiltier for Newt because he knew it hurt Percival, but he had long since passed the point where he could control his body’s reactions. From the way Gellert spoke of it – both to Percival and to Newt, it seemed as though in his explorations of Newt’s body he had discovered this little kink quite by instinct. Newt was of course dismayed and indefinably violated by the words and the until recently unknown touches but now there was little that he could do to control or deny them. The dark wizard had known – longer than Newt had by far but the truth in the depth of his own depravity still made the deepest of shames squirm within him like Graphorn tentacles around his insides.

But whatever the circumstances of the discovery, it had most certainly been exploited – Gellert forcing his body into states deliberately painful arousal as much as he was able through the limited movement he could achieve. Writhing and rubbing against the binds, the stone and especially Percival whenever the opportunity arose – whenever he got close enough to touch. In those brief moments of contact when Percival allowed his arms down to eat, drink, bathe in the bucket of water he brought or to relieve himself. Percival had been forced long ago to restrict such allowances of freedom – as partial as they were – when Gellert had not only continued to break bones but to attempt seduction as well. By bringing his chained hands up to caress any exposed skin that he could, to brush against Percival’s clothed groin on the occasions when the Auror had been forced to help Newt with his undressing to wash or relieve himself or to check on the markings. Even when those attempts were deliberately rebuffed by a flustered and outraged Percival, Gellert still found ways to trick and manipulate the feelings between the two by stroking at the very flesh he was inhabiting. Percival couldn’t always tell when the man was escorting was truly one or the other and while he often resorted to assuming the worst for fear of allowing weakness to show, he sometimes seemed to relapse into wanting to trust Newt. And that was when Gellert would begin with his tactics of confusion and seduction. He would brush Newt’s plush pink lips along Percival’s jawline, inhaling the familiar, comforting citrus-wood-Fire-Whiskey scent and bring his chained hands along between both, thrusting hips and whispering sweet temptations into the Auror’s ears.

It was clear that Percival wanted to believe that the man showing such wonton affection was his own Newt but that was what made it all the more depressing when he eventually stopped responding to even the smaller, sweeter affections that were actually Newt’s own. Newt would attempt to offer a small, fragile smile and a tender stroke of his thumb along Percival’s hand or jawline in an attempt to comfort his partner for the heavy heart he was clearly carrying but he would only be shrugged away.

And so the rift only deepened further.     

When Percival spoke this time, Newt raised his head, met his eyes, but didn’t smile. It felt wrong to smile at a man who looked so broken, so weary, so utterly haggard and do so knowing that the state of the once upstanding Director of MACUSA was his fault. Percival’s hair had grown out further in the months that Newt had been imprisoned just as his own had done – sharp objects obviously not being a possibility near him – but unlike Newt, the difference was a much starker one. His usually carefully crafted presence had crumbled gradually; dark, greying hair now covering the previously shaven areas in longer strands that fell into his face as often as his head ducked forward which was an increasingly often occurrence in Newt’s presence. His clothes were steamed and tidy as ever to the untrained eye, but Newt could smell the traces of the incredibly familiar smells of his case from where Percival had been spending his free hours to keep a long-held promise to Newt. He was immeasurably grateful to both Percival and Bunty for keeping his life’s work and his beloved friends happy and whole in his absence and didn’t envy Percival his ceaseless struggles in his job, the creature habitats and keeping Newt alive and imprisoned. The young magizoologist could see the stains of amber liquid around his shirtsleeves from where his increased intake of alcohol had slopped his reflexes and attention to such details. The smell of Fire-Whiskey lingered on his breath and Newt often found the taste lingering too on his own lips on the rarer occasions that Gellert had attempted to kiss the Auror. He felt guilt eat at him to see him in such a state even if he held himself together in front of Newt with an incredibly admirable effort; Newt could see between the cracks and it hurt to see what lay beneath.

Now though, Percival’s dark eyes weren’t as guarded as they had been the past few months. No, there was some kind of hope there that had been long since absent and it piqued the Magizoologist’s curiosity but only in an odd, distant way – his capacity for shock and hope had dwindled over time so that he knew that false-hope was the worst of fates. The most painful of betrayals. The Auror stood by the closed door of the cell, regarding Newt on the opposite side from him in a strained, barely contained anticipation that was glossed over by a forced normality that fooled neither.

“Newt?” The tone was gauging but the wizard in question knew that no matter his answer, Percival would still be on guard so merely nodded with a slight clench of his jaw, eyes skating over Percival with worry gnawing at him and the Auror too nodded in response. He seemed to be waiting or stalling for something and Newt found himself pushing himself a little further against the wall, kicking lightly with his tightly chained feet to rest his aching shoulders more steadily against the wall. It didn’t make much of a difference with the way his wrists were held away from one another above his head and tight to the wall, but it helped alleviate a fraction of the constant tensions in his muscles by bringing the pain to life. He grimaced a little but didn’t make a sound, merely rolling the joints as much as he was able and tried to keep his wavering attention on Percival.

“You’ve got a visitor.” Percival said, head tilted very slightly, and tone deadpanned, almost acerbic in its nature – likely in prelude to him assuming it was Gellert he was talking to.

Newt swallowed, throat a little scratchy from lack of use “Theseus?”

“No.” Percival’s brows furrowed very slightly, as if restraining frustration more than the constant weight. “We found him.”

Newt’s own brows shot up and he jerked a little against the wall as he felt a jolt of another’s emotion flow through him – seemingly Gellert’s, the dark wizard clearly as surprised as he was even if it was laced with more annoyance than relief as Newt’s was. “W-what happened? Where is he?” His throat crackled against the speech and Percival looked like he wanted to grimace at the sound but didn’t want to display any reaction that could be used to mock or entrap him as Gellert had done so often before. Tempting him to get closer.   

“Doesn’t much matter where he was.” Percival responded shortly, arms crossed over his chest and expression just as terse. Newt tried not to take offence, but it still stung that little bit of him that sought familiarity from his partner even above all common sense. “He’s outside now though and he wants to speak to Newt.”

Newt swallowed again, ducking his gaze to the scarred floor in front of him, unsure as ever how to convey his lucidity to Percival but realised that if anyone could tell the difference it would likely be Albus so restrained his confusion to look back up at Percival mildly, with a muted sadness. “I don’t suppose he’d refuse to come in, whichever of us it was.”

“True enough.” Percival remarked, tone terse and he rubbed one hand over his unkempt hair, pushing it back from where it had been invading his line of sight before sighing and turning to release the locks on the door. Before he opened it, he turned and shot an assessing, misery laden look over his shoulder. It was just a second, but it burned Newt like nothing else before he opened the door and left through it, passing the familiarly blue robed form of Albus on his way out. The door slammed with a definitive clang behind him as Albus stepped into the cell – he looked worse than Percival did. The robes were clean but the shirt and waistcoat beneath were stained and singed in places, hanging a little too loosely upon his frame and his beard had grown out a bit upon his haggard face. Deep, dark circles around his bright blues eyes and crows’ feet creasing the corners like wrinkles in bleached leather. Still weatheredly handsome but exhausted beyond all elucidation. That, Newt could understand. He knew exhaustion like no one else after all.

“Albus.” He said, tone clear but a little of his uncertainty, his relief bleeding through too, his eyes and the slump of his chained limbs. Those bright blue eyes he stared into looked immeasurably repentant. Guilt. Anger. Fear and so many other intimately familiar emotions there. Along with something he couldn’t even put a name to. Something not even the bond could help him recognise as it hung solid and empty between them in the still cell air.

“Newt.” That same presence of question was absent, and it surprised him. Whether Albus knew something he didn’t – _more than he could ever and had ever known –_ or whether the man was simply asserting his assumptions as confidence, Newt didn’t know. But it was still inexplicably…nice to not have to prove his identity before he even venturing words – the questions that had consumed him for so long in the dark. But now he found his voice stuck in his throat. The feeling that he had been _allowed_ to wallow in that dark – that Albus had been ignoring him and that as much as he was aware of what was happening, he hadn’t done anything to help. There was a part of Newt that scolded him for putting such faith in Dumbledore – reminding him that Albus was just a man and that he didn’t solely exist for the purpose of sorting out Newt’s messes and Gellert’s evil. He deserved to have chance to live as he wanted to – to teach his students as any other might, to get on with what he wanted outside of the tragedy and self-inflicted misery that was Newt’s life and the past that wouldn’t leave him be in the form of Gellert. But at the same he remembered every promise that the elder wizard had made to him, to Percival – to try to protect him from the horrors that the bond presented him with. What the blood-pact had forced upon him when Newt agreed to die for Albus’ freedom that had ultimately backfired upon them both.

His words, his protests, his questions and his apologies had all dried up in the aridness that had consumed his throat. For all the drowning he had endured, his throat now felt like ash and he could find it in himself to hold the other’s gaze as he once could. As his sea-blue eyes dropped to somewhere about one of the embroidered golden stars in the swathing of night sky blue-black fabric he heard and saw Albus’ chest rise and fall in an immeasurably weary sigh. That, at least, was familiar.

“Sorry doesn’t seem like the sort of word that can quite cover it, but I feel like it’s at least somewhere to start.” Albus’ tone was laden with the weight of his words – a weight that couldn’t be described or quantified properly and Newt could tell that he at least meant it. Even if it only touched the surface of the sentiment, the thing that was truly welcome was more the wryness of his voice. The very slight attempt at lightening the mood that had long since seeped into the walls of the cell from years of suffering before Newt even arrived – likely before he was even born if the age of the stone was any gauge. He appreciated the attempt at lightness more than the sentiment behind it and his lips cracked very slightly in a tiny smile.

“Of all people you should know that asking me for clarity on social etiquette probably isn’t the best idea.”

Albus’ small, lip twitching smile was so brittle it looked like it might’ve cracked his face beneath his beard and Newt’s own widened a little in response. “You probably have a point; I seem to remember a boy of around thirteen years old asking Professor Silva her opinions on the mating habits of Wampus cats when confronted with being found with a box of Jarveys in an attempt to distract her.”

Newt chuckled lowly but it was a pained sound, eyes darkened by the associations of Leta’s betrayal in the memory even as he cherished the utterly scandalised look upon the wizened old witch’s face. He smiled a little sheepishly and looked up through his lashes towards Albus’ face. “Well, in my defence, it almost worked – she nearly missed Leta escaping with the Jarveys into the grounds if it hadn’t been for Professor Binns coming around the corner.”

Albus nodded with a small smile before he abruptly lifted a hand and waved it at Newt, the young magizoologist feeling a jolt of surprise go through him as the bonds holding him to the wall came undone in a fluid movement. The chains about his ankles too loosened so that his ankles were no longer connected directly and had about a half-foot of chain slack between them, he let out a low groan as his arms dropped abruptly from the elevated position and he lowered them slowly into his lap, pulling and massaging at the joints and muscles slowly with deep, careful motions. His wrists were still bound by the cuffs but the chain between was longer than it had been in months and he regarded Albus with surprise, not moving to stand on legs he knew would be too unsteady for such a task but grateful, nonetheless. The bones of his knees, shins, spine, wrists and fingers were stiff not only from disuse but from the repeated breaks and healings from Gellert and Percival respectively.

Newt raised inquisitive eyes back up to Albus as he shifted his position on the floor, alleviating the atrophied ache from him in sharp flares of pins and needles but still relishing in the unencumbered and unsupervised movement. Albus clearly read the question in his silent gaze and shrugged, a little, weary gesticulation of his shoulders. “I see no reason why you should remain this way when you are yourself.”

“How did you know though? Gellert could’ve… well, he could’ve known that just as well as I could.” He pointed out, feeling that it was a fair question and Albus offered him a wry smile.  

“As much as I’m sure Gellert would’ve known to demonstrate your concern for the Jarveys, I doubt he would fake the concern you had shown for someone he saw as having only done you wrong.”

Newt’s eyes fell back to the star then, his last encounter with Leta weighing heavily upon him but he realised the truth in Albus’ words nonetheless – Grindelwald hadn’t deigned to speak of Leta much despite his prying into Newt’s life and when he did it was always with the same tone of distain. The expression and tone implying his incredulity that Newt didn’t condemn her for her actions – that he insisted on seeing the good heart she possessed deep down even if she didn’t see it. Albus looked repentant from the little of his face he could still see, and he knew that the elder wizard regretted testing him in such a way even if it was necessary.

“Did you know he could do this?” Newt asked, his voice quiet and surprising himself but apparently not Albus who tilted his head a little to one side as his hands wrung a little into the material of his pockets in an uncharacteristically unsure gesture.

“No, had I known I would’ve… admittedly I would have probably implemented something similar to what you did for yourself.” His tone was matter of fact and while Newt appreciated the honesty, he still winced a little at the thought, passing off the sign of discomfort as another joint was massaged into calm by his scarred fingers.

“I couldn’t think of anything better to do.” Newt admitted, eyes fixed upon his wrist as he worked the joints in circular, cracking, clinking movements under the strain of sore muscles and shifting chains. He huffed a soft breath out as he added. “Well I could, but Percy wouldn’t have forgiven me.”     

He saw Albus flinch as if punched then – more than he had the time Newt had actually witnessed him being struck and he felt a tad guilty at the words even if they were true. “I would ask where you’ve been, but I know there wouldn’t be much point in asking.”

“I wouldn’t have left you like this if I had a better solution-”

Newt cut him off with a bitter snap of laughter that sounded nothing like himself but still held a little of his own awkwardness anyway. “I know that, heard nothing but that from Percival and Theseus even if they don’t say it out loud anymore. I figured that you were doing something important if you needed to go to such great lengths to block me out.” The tone wasn’t as bitter as the words could’ve sounded – only the barest trace of it, but he raised his eyes from his swollen wrist to see that Albus’ face was tense, and his eyes were brighter than before – alight with pain. Newt sighed, feeling familiar guilt worming its way through the apathetic bitterness. “I didn’t mean-… I don’t mean it like it sounds… I understand - I do, really.” His expression crumpled a little then. “It’s just… it’s getting harder to… to…”

“It’s alright, Newt, I know.” Albus’ voice was very soft, and he took a few slow steps forward, almost hesitant, but not in the way Percival’s were – more a hesitance of his own volition rather than from unsurety or fear of Newt. Again, it was welcome. The expression on the other’s face turned determined then, eyes hardening almost into the blue tinted glass of a porcelain doll as they glossed over with the familiar resigned resistance. “I’ve been working ceaselessly to find a way to remove you from the bond – or rather it from you - without resorting to… more harmful means.” His eyes skated briefly over Newt’s battered, bruised, emaciated frame with guilt and even a little shared dark appreciation of the irony of his words. “It’s been a… consuming task as I had to factor in a number of variables and work from next to no information or historical reference, but I believe that I have found a solution to your current predicament.”

Newt allowed very little of the hope flow through him but straightened further against the wall as if in an effort to feel more prepared for the news, pushing his eyes up to meet Albus and feeling concerned at the mirroring tainted hope he saw there. “What is it then? Are you sure it’s the best idea to tell me of it what with…?” He waved a hand up to gesture and tap lightly at the side of his head in a vague gesture. 

“I’m afraid that I need Gellert’s involvement in this for it to work so it’s probably best that he is made aware of it too. He spends very little of his time conscious nowadays – in his own body at least.”

Newt started a little but nodded – it made sense that the repeated possessions and invasions would take nearly as much of a tole on him as it had on Newt. Energy for energy and with both being cut off from their magic by their bonds it made sense that the bond would simply settle upon taking the needed power from those involved directly. It was what was draining Newt even as they spoke, the long-abused power tracking its way into his skin, his soul and his body - taking and taking and taking. Soon there would be nothing left to take – it was why Newt was so convinced of the inevitability of is end. The voice had been telling him, warning him of it all along and even now, he was remembering words Albus had said some time ago in a memory that wasn’t his. A memory where Gellert was knelt upon a stone floor, cradling an unconscious, bloody Newt in his lap and Albus was working to revive him – as futile as it would likely turn out to be in the end. _“I mean it, Gellert. Your actions have gone far past the point where I can excuse them as anything but what they truly are. Stop what you are doing. You’re killing him whether you realise it or not.”_  The warning too, had been redundant but the words were true even if Albus hadn’t truly understood them at the time.    

He looked up at Albus now again with resignation clear in every signal his appearance could send. “There’s no need to hold back on my account either, please just tell me.”

“I couldn’t find a solution purely through magical means. I tried but any attempts I made simply resulted in a worsening of its effects upon you.” His bright eyes were drawn to Newt’s neck then where the silver was clearly etched in swirling spirals around the column of skin and Newt nodded infinitesimally. It made sense that the growth was the result of experimentations with the bond and it came as a bit of relief to think that he hadn’t been quite as abandoned as he thought whilst the silver magic consumed him. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t explain this to you directly, but I felt it best that I didn’t venture any knowledge forth to either of you until I was surer of my solution. But now…” He frowned, hand fiddling more with the material of his robe. “Now I’ve come to the realisation that an ultimatum must be reached for any of this to work. I need Gellert’s help with this and we’ve run out of enough time to pretend otherwise. I truly am sorry Newt, but as you are undoubtedly aware, the bond is killing you. It wasn’t something that was ever meant to be bore by a living being in the first place and its frankly a miracle it has allowed you to live this long. Gellert’s interferences have only exacerbated the situation and my own attempts to remove it have done the same.”

He had been stepping forward gradually as he spoke and was now almost directly in front of Newt, looking like he wanted to crouch to be on eye level with Newt but considered it would be patronising to do so. Instead he stood there looking contrastingly powerful and wearily wise but also very unsure of himself as any man pushed to his limits might. “I believe that under the circumstances the most brutal method may in fact be the least devastating and I wanted to ask your opinion before I ventured it forward to Gellert directly.”

“You mean kill me?”

Hurt flashed across the other’s face then and he shook his head fervently. “No, no, that was not my intention. Though I’ll admit that the alternative isn’t entirely safe either. No, the least destructive and most effective method I could conceive was to remove the physical manifestation of the blood-pact, bleed the taint from you and then reabsorb it back into myself and Gellert. I don’t know what the exact consequences of the transference would be in terms of the blood-pact’s intentions concerning our ability to challenge one another but it would at least remove you from the equation as well as delay the decay of the bond was causing between all of us.” He grimaced, lip twisting in discomfort as he sought Newt’s eyes directly. “This won’t be pleasant in the slightest, and I have no guarantee that it won’t backfire as spectacularly as the last attempt did but it’s all I’ve got and I’m sorry for that. I wish that I had more time but at the rate of growth and deterioration, you wouldn’t last much more than a month in all probability.” 

The news didn’t come as a surprise but hearing it out loud still felt like an odd thing to have explained in such blunt honesty and concern after such an extended period of being kept in the dark. “I don’t suppose that there any other choices by this point, so I guess all that’s left to do is ask Gellert… I can’t imagine he’s going to be particularly keen on it.”

“That is where the element of needing his agreeance comes in, I’m afraid, he’ll need to contribute to the process or else it won’t work, and this is the part I wanted your input on.” He looked hesitant but firm, nonetheless. “I’m willing to offer Gellert his freedom to take part in this. Now let me be clear – I won’t be relinquishing the Elder Wand to him, but I doubt he’d accept much less than his release for this.”

 Newt jerked then, like a puppet coming to life with a tug on his strings, his legs pushing him up shakily almost of their own accord in a clanking and screaming of pained limbs, muscles and chains. He swayed on his feet but couldn’t help the intensity of the gaze which he fixed Albus with then, ice solidifying in his veins. “No, no, no, you can’t do that. Not now – it would make everything-… everything we’ve done up until now utterly redundant. You can’t do it.” He felt Gellert pulling on his consciousness then and the swaying became far more pronounced, falling back against the wall but managing to push himself into a semblance of uprightness using his bony elbows and shoulder. He knew that Gellert had good cause to want a word in the conversation, but he fought against the exhaustion as hard as he could to convey his meaning over to Albus before it consumed him. “I can’t let you free him after all this just for my sake. I volunteered for this – I knew it would likely mean my death when I agreed to do it. Just let it happen, Albus, and the problem will solve itself. Let it go please, let me go. You can’t save everyone, but you _can_ stop him hurting anyone else if you just let this happen.”

“Newt…” Dumbledore didn’t even seem to know what to say then but swallowed, ducking his head for many tense moments before he rose his eyes to meet Newt’s again with a pleading, apologetic expression ingrained deeply into them like scratches into glass. “Even if I was willing to let that happen… I can’t… it would solve nothing. The pact would remain intact even after you were dead, and I can’t promise you that it would be the end of your awareness either. From my experimentations and readings, I believe that if you did die in the state you are in now, you’d still remain a part of the bond but without the ability to control anything. You’d be dead but still trapped and…. I wouldn’t put you through that. I’m sorry, I truly am, but this is the best option. I know that you would wish an easy way out – I wish nothing more than that for you and if I could offer one, I would give it to you without hesitation. This is my fault for dabbling in matters I had little experience in the first place and I’ve only continued to make things worse ever since.” His voice had dropped into a hoarse undertone as he stepped forward to brace Newt’s arm against the wall, both holding him up and sending a shock through the bond that cleared his mind a little. Twin dualities shocked through him and he felt the immeasurable guilt - the pain from Albus as well as the rage yet hope from Gellert. It shocked the influence of the exhaustion from him for a moment and he straightened in the grip.

Albus’ murmur was nothing like he ever wanted to hear from the man. “All I can do now is offer you what is left.”

“I-…I-…u-unders-stand.” Newt quivered out the words like he was airing them in the wind – sharp but shaking in a more powerful, cold, natural force. “Just do it, ask him and promise me that you won’t stop fighting him just because you let him free. Promise me, please, Albus.”

“I swear to you, Newt.” The words were undeniable in their clarity and Newt felt gratified by them even in his despondency, offering a brief, tight, watery smile before his eyes rolled up abruptly into his head and he collapsed against the wall.

There was no backseat presence this time – whatever Gellert wanted to say apparently warranted privacy for once and for an indefinable amount of time, Newt was blissfully oblivious to everything but when awareness returned to him what felt like much later, he opened his eyes to see both Albus and Percival hovering over him. He had expected to be bound again in response to Gellert’s resurgence, but he was in fact freer than he had been in months. There were no restrictions on him whatsoever, no chains, no manacles and his body felt less stiff and achy than before, even if he still lay in the same cell, there was a spongy mattress beneath him too. Such luxuries having been denied him in lieu of the threat Gellert had represented and as he pushed himself up slowly into a sitting position, he couldn’t help the confusion that flowed through him at the sudden relaxations of the restrictions upon him.

The door to the cell was shut and locked as it ever was but Percival’s hand was cupping the side of his face in a gesture more intimate than it had been in _too long_ and he found himself - heedless of Albus’ presence - nuzzling a little into the contact. Percival’s smile was small and broken but better than the enforced hollowness of the past months and Newt found himself mirroring it, pressing his lips against the tips of Percival’s fingers before bringing a hand up to pull it down to lay upon the mattress beside him, clasped tightly in his own.

“Good to see you yourself again, sweetheart.” Percival murmured, pressing a brief, warm kiss to his knuckles before glancing back at where Albus had stood beside them both, clearly intending to give them some space but also hovering out of necessity.

Newt swallowed thickly, throat feeling like sandpaper and Percival clearly noticed, summoning a metal cup to his hand and passing it over to Newt in a gesture of soothing that the younger man could tell he wanted to do earlier but had been unsure of whether he could do so safely until now. He drank his fill from the cup in messy gulps, putting it aside and straightening further before raising questioning eyes to both men in turn. “What’s made you so sure you can trust me all of a sudden?”   

It was Albus who answered in a mild voice “Gellert has agreed to my proposal and has decided as such to not harm anyone until the process is complete for the sake of its success.”

“Well, that’s all well and good I suppose but… well…why?” He blurted, more than a little dubious of Gellert agreeing to anything so readily.

“The temptation of freedom was I worthy motivator I surmise.” Newt fixed him with an exasperated, unconvinced look then and he smiled a little, eyes lowering before he conceded. “The finer details aren’t particularity important just now other than the one he requested directly from you.”  

“And what was that?” Newt asked, voice tight and he felt Percival’s hand constrict on his own in a way that indicated that he already knew the answer and wondered how long he’s actually been out as the Auror took the initiative to answer the question for himself. Jaw tight his anger and eyes dark with the same.

“He wants Lewis-damned ‘ _visiting rights_ ’ to put it into his words.”

Newt blinked and paused for some time before querying “He _asked_ for that? I mean, he could just do that anyway once he’s free… why would he-”

Percival cut him off then, eyes furious but also curious towards Newt it seemed “According to him he wants you to agree to it – wants your permission before anything goes forward.” He added a bitter mutter on the end that seemed more to himself then Newt. “Not like he’s ever asked before.”       

Newt felt decidedly off-footed and flushed a little under the intense stares of both men before he eventually ventured a nod and while both seemed the deflate a little, he also saw the apprehension flash in Percival’s dark eyes before he masked it carefully.

“You don’t have to set or agree to any terms just yet, Newt, there’s no hurry in it apparently, only that Gellert… gains your consent.” Albus voice was increasingly strained and he looked a little ill as he continued. “I can guarantee you that these visits won’t include the right to hurt you any further. It _won’t_ be allowed.”

Newt swallowed tightly and nodded, not trusting his voice any longer but feeling some level of relief in the sudden certainty that he was feeling – the idea that he was no longer entirely as lost, adrift or in the dark as he had been as he felt Percival’s thumb stroking softly, just a little too tight, over his hand just like he used to.

 It felt better to know that, one way or another, there was a way for all of this to end.                   

 **A/N – Oomph, sorry? Feedback sought after desperately.**   


	28. Chapter 28

**“** **…And you took your machete and you sliced through the vines that wrapped around me and you said, "I don't know what I'm doing so I'll just keep on cutting, it's worth a little blood to get your hands free"...**

**And you took your machete and you hacked through the woods in the surrounding and you said, "I don't know where I'm going, I just know that I’m heading from the dead things piling up behind me"**

**..."See? you get the drill now, don't you? It's not a will or won't, you can't keep making symbols out of nothing"**

**So, I took your machete and I sliced off your head and you laughed, and you said, "...** **You don't need me here to cut you…You don't need me here to cut you free" – ‘Machete’ – Amanda Palmer**

Dumbledore left soon after, both, Newt felt, to prepare for the upcoming attempt to remove the bond from him but also to give him and Percival some privacy as they were reunited. Of course, there hasn’t been any physical distance between them for more than a few hours at a time since Newt had been imprisoned but the distance that had been forced between them had left both starved of the affection and intimacy. While Newt knew that Percival was clearly dubious of any promise that came from either Albus or Gellert’s lips, he seemed to take the opportunity of Newt’s apparent freedom to heart anyway by lavishing closer attentions upon him than he had done in some time. Curling upon the mattress together upon the floor, Percival worked his strong hands over Newt’s sore joints and muscles – both relaxing them into less painful tension and gently reasserting a little of what had been lost between them for so long.

Newt was content to lean against Percival as the Auror’s strong, warm fingers worked their way over him through his clothes, the presence of the silver burned into almost all of his skin unfortunately discouraging any direct skin to skin contact. They didn’t react as strongly to simple touch as they did to magic but still sent tremors and tingles of Newt’s emotions along the bond that made Newt keen to discourage Percival from risking any direct touch to the silver-glass spirals. Percival’s dark, warm-whiskey eyes were shaded, masked and restrained but not in the way they had been before – not in fear of uncertainty as to Newt’s sanity but more of apprehension of what was to come. As Percival’s rubbing, coaxing fingers brushed across the nobbles of his spine through the thin white shirt, Newt found himself letting out a soft sigh, both of relief and of resignation at the probably heated debate his next words were likely to trigger. 

“You don’t want me to do this.” His voice was calm and though Percival’s hands slowed a little in their movements for a moment he gave no more away than that as he continued the motions for a while longer before speaking, voice low and a tad hoarse.

“I would rather that you didn’t have to agree to it, no, but by now I’m quite sure that nothing I do or say will convince you otherwise.”

“You’re probably right.” Newt sighed out, bringing a hand over his own shoulder to gently rub at Percival’s hand until it released where it had been gripping and pulled it back over to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the knuckles. He turned in the grip then, moving his lips away but not relinquishing his hold on Percival’s hand as he sought his eyes directly. “You trust me, don’t you? Believe me, if I thought that there was a better option, I would probably take it.”      

Percival’s face looked tight and pained then, eyes swimming and flickering with something he had clearly been trying to quell for a while but was now leaking through. “That’s not what I heard you telling your professor, Newt. You told him-” He swallowed hard; eyes fiery but shining slightly brighter than made Newt comfortable. “You told him that you would rather die. You told him to just let this damned spell take its course so that it would kill you. The only reason you agreed to this is because he warned you of the possibility that you might carry on… _existing_ in this afterwards. You thought that death was preferable to one more month of living with this damn thing inside you.”

Percival’s hand had come up to clutch hard at Newt’s shoulder, fingers digging through the thin material slightly, just even to send shocks through him and the young magizoologist winced slightly, pulling back a bit so that only fingertips remained. Percival didn’t seem to notice; eyes wide and slightly wild. Newt too swallowed, throat bobbing in a surge of nervousness that had been so long absent now felt overwhelming even though it was only Percival’s concern that was causing it. “You… you heard that…”

“Of course, I did, Newt. I didn’t trust that bastard alone in here with you like this. I know you trust him, and I’ve seen what he’s been trying to do to fix this mess, but it doesn’t discount the fact that he caused it in the first place – just one damn crackpot scheme after the next with him. He’s willing to gamble your life on this just like he was last time. How can you trust him when last time he thought you would die, and you didn’t – does _that_ not tell you that he doesn’t have any real idea what he’s doing?” Percival’s grip had doubled again, and Newt found himself twisting very slightly even whilst he tried to convey his trust through his expression as best he could.

“He’s risking this – _I’m_ risking this - because the alternative is much worse. I don’t want to risk being trapped in this bloody state forever and not even be able to get out of it by dying! Is that what you would rather I did? Be stuck like this in between them permanently and not be able to do anything about it but be trapped in some non-corporeal, ghost, half-alive, conscious… thing? Because I certainly don’t.”

“I’m not saying that you shouldn’t do this, Newt, I’m just saying that you maybe shouldn’t be quite so accepting of it. You could die… or worse. You could end up stuck in a worse position than you are now – Morgana only knows what that sick fuck might try to do to screw this is up. How do you know he won’t mess with this or go back on his word? You’re putting too much trust in the word of a man that has done nothing but abuse you and his deluded ex who still refuses to admit the things that could cause you harm.” The Auror’s eyes were earnest, desperate; furious, and his grip was iron on Newt’s shoulder, the hold now edging on the wrong side of painful. Newt tried to jerk back again but Percival wouldn’t let go, eyes fixed hard upon his as if begging him to understand the words and the desperation behind them.  

“What do you expect me to do if you aren’t saying that I shouldn’t do this? What, Percival? Would you rather I break down and scream and cry and fight against the inevitable? Would you rather that I made everything that much more difficult by arguing and being pointlessly stubborn? I’ve told you before that I don’t see the point in fretting too much over what I can’t change – this may not be easy but its all the plan we’ve got and unless you want to watch me die slowly and then be stuck in some sort of blood-oath induced perfidy, you’re just going to have to accept that.”

“Damn it-... Newt…” Percival seemed to be struggling to reign in his temper, his eyes closed firmly, and he breathed in heavily through his nose, but his iron grip continued to tighten until Newt let out a gasp. He reached up to tug at Percival’s hand and the Auror’s eyes snapped open, looking confused for a moment before they drifted down to where his hand rested, widening as he released Newt as if burned. His expression softened a bit then, tension mounting but rage dissipating slightly, he sighed before speaking; softly but equally earnestly. “I know you’re just trying to be brave about this – to be practical so that it doesn’t seem as scary but… its not healthy. You need to deal with this properly or its only going to get worse and come back to bite you in the ass later. This bond thing has been messing with your head too long and it’s got you so twisted that you can’t properly recognise the danger that’s right in front of you.”

Newt fixed him with a hard look, own infuriation fuelling his aching limbs as he rose fluidly to his feet, swaying a little but not backing down as Percival too stood to face him, face creased in alarm. “What makes you think that I’m not dealing with it? I’ve had nothing to do for three months but think about everything that Gellert did to me and everything I did, everything that has happened between us… and I’ve come to terms with it. Did you consider the thought that by this point I haven’t got any patience left for all this fear? That I haven’t the capacity for any more anticipation about what _could_ happen because I already know what _should_ happen? This damn bond has been in my head since long before it was in my body and its been warning me of everything that came to pass even if I didn’t realise it – it was how I knew that Gellert was going for you back in Nurmengard. It helped me save your life and forced me to face things I would’ve buried until they made everything fall out from under me ever since.”

He could feel his shoulders trembling under the force of his strained, grit-teeth breaths, eyes firm and challenging on Percival in a way he hadn’t done before. “Now I have to risk a chance to be rid of it before it finally does what it was meant to do in the first place and I’m not going to let myself fail in this because you want me to be scared of it.” Percival’s expression was wretched then and Newt felt a sliver of guilt slice through his gut like ice even as he knew that the words had to be said.

“That’s-… that’s not what I’m asking, Newt, it’s not what I want – I don’t want you to be afraid… it just-…it scares _me_ to think that you are in a place where death wouldn’t matter to you. I don’t _want_ you to be afraid, but it scares me to think that you aren’t. I’m sorry that I haven’t been here for you and its been killing me to not be able to help all this time and… and if you don’t think you want me here… if you’ve changed your mind… after what I did to you…I’ll understand…just don’t go to _him_.” The words were a jumble of terrified sounding, pleading words that shouldn’t have made much sense, but Newt knew that they did, and the guilt icicle twisted further at what he had made Percival fear for. He reached forward to grasp Percival’s limp hand again in a soft, caressing grip, intertwining their fingers gently.

“I’m… I’m sorry that you thought that.” Newt murmured, looking up through long lashes, apology bleeding between them. “I don’t want you to leave. My feelings for you haven’t changed… I… I still love you and I understand why you couldn’t be here because it was exactly what I asked you to do. I can’t pretend it didn’t hurt but I can’t blame you for doing the right thing – especially when I was the problem all along.”

The anger flared anew then, and Percival’s hands clenched at his sides, tugging free from Newt’s soft grip. “You’re not the problem, Newt – that sadistic fuck you are sharing a headspace with is the problem. If it weren’t for Grindelwald none of this would have ever happened.”

Newt found an odd, cold clarity in that moment, flowing through him sharply with uncustomary frustration as he raised his chin in strangely calm regard “No, it wouldn’t have – I wouldn’t have been captured or tortured, I wouldn’t have wished for death simply because it would stop the pain and stop me from hurting anyone else. I wouldn’t have endured a year of suffering and violation. I wouldn’t have had to ask you to imprison me and watch as I was hurt all over again.” His tone only wavered in the slightest as he spoke and Percival seemed to sense there was more coming but still looked aghast as Newt finished in a small, even, sad voice. “And we wouldn’t have been together for all of it.”

Percival opened his mouth to speak, to deny the words, but then seemed to realise the folly in it as Newt shook his head softly, a long-held-in comprehension clouding the space between them. “Without all of this, we wouldn’t have happened – you and me. There would have been letters, probably, yes, but you after you satisfied your need to thank your ‘rescuer’ you wouldn’t have bothered to look past that. Honestly, I would have probably thought about venturing something more, but I wouldn’t have ever acted on it. We wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for all horrible things that happened too.”

“Maybe there is something in what you say but I think that I would have always wanted to know you better – I didn’t just write to you because I felt obligated, Newt. I didn’t come after you just because it was my job or because I felt guilty – I did it because I saw something in you that I adored, that drew me in from the first moment I saw you. Sure, I might’ve have been half-delirious but even then, I saw it and its what made me so damn scared when you started slipping away. It’s what scaring me _now_ – that you’re trying to justify every Lewis-damned thing that Grindelwald has done to you.”

Newt ducked his gaze momentarily, shame welling in him but not in the way in once had – not in an overwhelming wave of crushing self-loathing, no, now it was more of a tendril that gripped his gut and constricted his heart. But the worrying thing was that it didn’t feel as strongly as it once would have done. It all felt that little bit too distant. He knew that Percival was right, that he was letting the pity and twisted comradery that had grown between him and Gellert was bad but in the same way that he had been able to argue the case of a hundred creatures that had done deplorable things by their nature…Newt could no longer find it in himself to loathe the dark wizard. Not as much as he should, there was a blooming warmth that had always been there between them, thawing away at the cool, icy demeaner until Gellert was almost human. He no longer relished in Newt’s tears when they came, he no longer hurt Newt simply because he wanted to – he did it with purpose for his escape but even the underhand tactics he employed made sense to Newt more now.          

“You’re not even denying it.” Percival’s tone was quietly incredulous, horrified even, as if he had been expecting Newt to refute his accusations immediately and now didn’t know how to respond when he didn’t.

Newt grimaced “I’m not defending him; I’m just not going to break down over something I can’t control. It’ll be different as soon as the bond is gone, I promise.”

“Will it?” Percival’s voice was harsh and cutting even before Newt had finished speaking and the magizoologist jerked as if shocked. “Because from where I’m standing it looks as though you’ve agreed to seeing him even after this is supposed to be over and that you don’t seem particularly bothered that he’s going to be free. It makes me doubt that its even really you I’m talking to.”

Newt flinched at the low blow – justified though it might have been from Percival’s stance – it opened up a new set of issues entirely that he had deliberately been neglecting to address for Percival’s sake but in that moment, his sense was overridden by hurt and anger. “Maybe Gellert was right about some things – you can’t even recognise me when I’m standing right in front of you. Whatever you claim to see obviously can’t be that special or you’d recognise the difference between me and a man you hate.”                    

It was Percival’s turn to jerk back then and his fists clenched even tighter, whole frame shaking and looking very much like he wanted to vent his frustration and guilt somewhere but didn’t want to hurt either Newt or himself in process. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and barely contained in its emotion. “He’s been in your head so long it makes it difficult to see past how you’ve been changing – for me or you. How am I meant to tell what’s you and what’s him when you’re becoming more different every day? You don’t even seem to realise how much of an effect he’s had on you because he’s there all the time messing inside your head – how the hell am I meant to know the difference between you going crazy and the sadistic fuck who’s making it happen?”

Newt turned his back, rubbing a hand furiously, agitatedly over his face, pushing the pressure of his palms into his eyes and temples, trying to hold in pressure that was building behind both. That word, that one little word that cut so much more than he cared to admit when it came from Percival’s lips like that…crazy. It was something that had crossed his own mind a thousand times and had lain unsaid for a long time but Percival had never said it to him like that before and it had the pressure build in his head while his heart was twisted tight in his chest. He didn’t hear Percival move to follow him as he paced across to the other side of the cell, worn boots treading frantic paths around the rooms as he worked to keep the hurt under control. Anxious energy bubbling within him and shaking the lethargic ache from his limbs as he paced, part of him revelling in the free movement but most still reeling. Percival’s words made sense in an abstract, yet undeniable way, yet that was exactly what he was doing – it hurt to think that he had been moulded and changed by his experiences to the point where Percival struggled to see the difference between him and Gellert. And, as much as he wanted to admit his acquiescence to his partner, the stronger, angrier, more desperately, bitterly lonely part just wanted to snap right back at him. It felt almost good to be letting out his feelings in a bitter vent even as a smaller part of him recognised that he was only doing damage to Percival and their relationship while he was helping himself.

He felt a hand on his shoulder then and turned quicker than he could think, arm coming up swiftly to push the too tight grip away before he even registered the only person it could’ve been. The pressure in his head and behind his eyes had built to the point that white spots danced in his vision as Percival’s other hand came up swifter than his, catching his wrist and twisting his arm up behind his back in a firm, precise though still painful movement. He gasped more out of surprise than pain but had the good sense not to struggle against the grip lest Percival’s strong hands that had so recently been alleviating the discomfort, snap his arm in half. Newt felt Percival’s body rigid with tension pressed against him, Newt’s trapped arm flaring with throbbing pain between his back and the Auror’s chest.

“Percy, stop, I’m-”

“I can’t be sure though, can I? Because everything you’re saying sounds like it could be him or it could be you under his damned manipulations.” Percival replied, voice pained but strong and Newt sagged a little in the grip, not knowing how to react in a way that would convince his partner that he was himself without getting his arm broken. He soon realised however that staying still was probably a better bet as it might convince Percival that he didn’t want the appendage broken as Gellert likely would’ve – at least from the Auror’s point of view anyway. Despite his apparent promise to halt in his assaults until the bond was removed, Newt knew that Percival still didn’t trust him – thought that Newt’s brutally honest words were coming from Gellert. It was a difficult situation and whilst his better sense was telling him that Percival was just as scared, angry and confused as he was – likely more so – the primal instinct that was telling him to struggle and argue more was strong.   

“Percival, please let go, this isn’t helping anything – even if I was Gellert all I’d have to do here was struggle and you’d be doing his job for him, wouldn’t you? I’m sorry for upsetting you but…well, I just want you to accept that I _know_ everything about this is buggered up, but it doesn’t mean that I have to let it consume me. I know that you never got to know me before all this happened but if you did, you’d probably realise I deal with things in my own way. Just because I do it differently doesn’t mean it’s the wrong way. Theseus’d probably tell you the same thing if you asked but arguing isn’t going to help any of this.”    

Percival’s grip loosened a little, the pressure decreasing the tiniest bit as he murmured distractedly, entirely to himself “never been normal... makes it hard to tell when somethings actually the matter…”      

Newt frowned at the unfamiliar words but was surprised and relieved when the grip released a moment later and he stiffly pulled his arm back down to his side, rubbing at the irritated joint of his shoulder with a tired half-scowl. He turned to face Percival again, his expression unsure but seeming repentant all the same as he offered Newt an apologetic grimace, eyes fixed on the hand that was massaging his shoulder. 

“What was that meant to mean?”

Percival blinked before his gaze flickered up to Newt’s “Something your brother said to me a while ago back before you told me about the dreams, before we found out what was going on with you.”

“Oh, right.” Newt mumbled, ceasing the massaging movements and eying Percival warily as the Auror’s tense, frustration rippled posture did not abate, shoulders hunched and nails digging tight into his palms. Clearly unsure whether he had been right to release Newt at all.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I… this is… difficult and if this risky… _‘solution’_ stands a chance of getting you back to something close to your old self then I’m not going to argue about it anymore…but can you answer me one thing?” Newt looked up cautiously, mind flicking rapidly through the multitude of questions that Percival would likely have before nodding slowly. Percival looked pained, hesitant but determined nonetheless, a spark of something strange behind his warm whiskey eyes. “I know that you agreed to these… visits that Grindelwald wants because you don’t have much else of a choice, but… is there another reason? Something you’re not telling me?”

Newt frowned “What do you mean?”

Percival’s expression seemed desperately frustrated then “The way he’s got into your head and the way he’s been trying to get you to return his… _affections_ for damn near a year…you call him by his first name and don’t seem all that bothered by what’s he’s been doing to you-… your body…has something happened that you haven’t told me? Do you-” His fists clenched harder then and his eyes turned wild. “Damn it, do you…care for him?”

Newt’s heart thumped loudly in his ears as he felt the words that he _knew_ should be on the end of his tongue immediately – denying them as quick and as vehemently as he could to tell Percy the truth and make him feel better in an instant. To relieve the tension and pain it was clear the doubt was causing him, but he found that the words were stuck fast and hard in his throat. They wouldn’t come out straight away and that seemed to be enough for Percival to crumple – to doubt further. He turned, hands twitching almost spasmodically at his side before he headed towards the cell door with clear intent in his steps – the need to _just get out_. One that Newt knew well but that he couldn’t let Percival act on it as he stepped quickly in his path, hands jerking up to shove at his chest, not pushing him back but just trying to stop his advance. An expression that was almost a snarl came onto Percival’s face then, lips twisting and eyes flashing as he gripped Newt’s wrists and pushed him backwards. It wasn’t a hard push, just a small shove really but it had been done without thought – on instinct and out of frustration and Newt had been standing too close to the door and with the wards still being in place on him they reacted instantly.     

Newt’s world exploded into a flash of white, red and bright silver, the colours coming almost simultaneously in a blur of confusion and he was sure he heard a yell of pain but was unsure if it came from him, Percival or both. He was aware of an intense tingling, burning sensation all over but not much else before he felt stone beneath him, then he felt the stone give and he slipped through into another place entirely. He blinked a few times before the whiteness receded, the red and silver having dissipated immediately after the first flash and he suspected, as he lay there on cool stone, that the other colours had been the cell wards and the bond respectively. The whiteness was probably just his vision fading after he collided with the latter two. Newt groaned a little, rolling over onto his side and panting slightly as he then pushed himself to his feet, dizziness mixing potently with the more than common feeling of lethargy and he took a moment to give himself a visual once over. Everything looked in order from his brief examination though he could feel new bruises already mottling the flesh of his shoulders and back alongside a throbbing inside his skull that had doubled the headache already there to the point where he had to focus hard for some time to see his cellmate in any clarity.

Gellert was leant against a nearby wall, looking at ease in his state of dress but with creases lining his forehead and eyes that indicated a deeper tension as he looked over to Newt, not quite in surprise but not as though he had been expecting him either. Newt took in the relaxed state of dress with perplexed eyes – his sleeves rolled up, baring pale forearms and the tattoo that resided dark against the skin of one, whilst his usual jacket and waistcoat were absent from his frame. However, Newt spotted a pile of cloth in one corner that looked familiar, the usual stack of books against the far wall now also joined by the shed layers and also, mystifyingly enough, Gellert’s leather boots, leaving the man barefoot on the chilly ground. If he felt any discomfort, he gave no sign of it in his relaxed, draped posture and Newt’s rather fuzzy brain couldn’t quite click the image of him barefoot in with anything he had ever known about the dark wizard. _I don’t know, fits in quite well with the Puck sprite image of him perched on windowsills if you ask me._ Newt replied to the voice’s amused whisperings with a firm request for it to shut up and stop being ridiculous. Even the first few buttons of Gellert’s habitually open collared shirt were loosened lower than they usually were, revealing more ghostly pale, smooth looking skin descending to midway down his chest. If Newt didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that he’d caught the wizard in the midst of changing but as he had never done so in the many months of dropping in inadvertently and somewhat unpredictably, he had the sneaking suspicion that the casual dress was on purpose in some way.   

Gellert’s blank expression morphed into a small smirk and Newt flushed and looked away decisively when he realised that his hazy, wandering attention had been stuck for too long to be polite upon all the exposed flesh. He pointedly fixed his gaze on the wall behind Gellert and absently continued to rub at the sore shoulder with one hand, rubbing his palm hard into it as he rolled the joint carefully, resulting in a series of unpleasant crunching sounds that had him grimacing.

“Anything I can do to help?”

Newt’s gaze flickered briefly up to Gellert’s, gauging for a moment before he sent a swift, soft smile and shook his head. “It’s fine thanks, just a strained muscle I think.”

“I wasn’t just talking about your shoulder, Liebling.” He replied patiently “I was more referring to the quite nasty altercation you just had.” A darkness flitted across his face, bitter anger and cold fire. “I thought that Graves would have more sense than to take out his petty frustrations on you, but it seems that he’s even less worthy of you than I had originally thought.”

Newt’s brow crumpled and he paused in his ministrations again, stilling and swallowing thickly before speaking in a quiet, strained tone. “He didn’t mean to hurt me, he’s just under a lot of pressure right now. I think that just about anyone would’ve lashed out eventually.”

“You aren’t ever going to stop making excuses for the follies of others are you, Newt.” Gellert’s tone was chastising but also bitterly fond and Newt shrugged his aching shoulders noncommittally, having no real answer to the clearly rhetorical question. “But then again, you also seem to bring out the beast in people – even the ones who thought that they had them under control. You bring out the best and worst whether you mean to or not. Maybe it’s an insentient way to make people understand your creatures – by bringing out the beast in the beings you understand the least.”

Newt considered the words before inclining his head slightly to the side, absently moving forward in soft, meandering steps that sounded almost silently upon the stones. “Perhaps you have a point. I prefer things to be simple – its why I don’t have any patience for the games you play, Gellert.”

Gellert’s pale brows rose incredulously and a smirk twisted his lips, a grin that exposed white teeth momentarily and creased his face in a flattering way that lessened the customary cold aloofness. Newt realised a second or two later that the words could have been misconstrued as flirtatious and while he flushed pink high in his cheeks, he forced himself to meet the other’s stare head on, raising his chin a little in defiance. Over the months, he had noticed that Gellert often responded better to him when he displayed confidence and a firm resolve despite his obvious lack of it. Weakness or feigned ignorance only egged him on and led him to try to provoke a reaction out of Newt. Now, however, he saw something familiar and warm flicker into being in his mismatched eyes, something that had been absent in most of their more recent interactions – that blazing, insatiable desire that used to scare him so much.

Only now it didn’t do so quite as much – he was still apprehensive of what the man would do to him given the chance but there was little uncertainty now. For, as invasive and deliberately provocative towards both himself and Percival as Gellert’s… explorations and seductions with Newt’s body had been, it had certainly established a precedent for what Gellert was capable of. It had shifted Newt’s perspective of the other wizard’s advances gradually – making him realise for as much as his behaviours had once been tainted with the purpose of punishment for either Albus or Percival, they were now more for the sake of what went on between him and Newt. Gellert was very much attracted to him; that much was clear from every moment and caress that Gellert had allowed Newt to witness both in memory and as a backseat observer. When inside Newt’s body, Gellert had been very thorough in his explorations of what made him react and just what sort of blend of roughness and gentleness excited him best. At first it had been as unnervingly invasive but the longer it went on, the longer he was teased and tormented by the touches and the thoughts that rippled through Gellert’s head and his own body…it began to feel…different.

Alongside the memories that Gellert had guided Newt to within his own head, he had shown him more human experiences of his own. Ranging in their personalness from quiet moments outside in the open air above Nurmengard from long ago and extensive hours relaxing with books that weren’t just of the magical variety but also to some of the many conquests that Gellert had endeavoured on over the years since he and Albus went their separate ways. It hadn’t ever been Newt’s assumption that the man was as inexperienced in the field of… seduction as he was – of course it hadn’t – but neither did it mean that he had ever quite considered how many lovers the man had had. Most seemed to have been in his younger years, when he had been travelling extensively around Europe and America in order to gauge the political and social climates of the cities and where he might gain support. He had been ruthless in his deployment of his easy charm and good looks in order to get what he wanted from people, and while most of his manipulations had been of the magical, violent and articulated varieties, he had also sown his intentions in a number of cases by more… carnal means. He had used his own form in those earlier years, before he began to be recognised more frequently by those he sought to manipulate or vent with buy as his appearance changed and became more identifiable, he began to work his extensive transformative skills to his advantage.    

As much as Newt had previously tried to divert the course of the memories Gellert showed him whenever they turned to a much more lewd and intimate nature, he had still become ensnared in the flow as the passions of the memories ran high between them. It hadn’t helped that Newt had been feeling his inexperience and isolation more and more with each day that Percival was forced to reject him, but it also might’ve had a great deal to do with the fact that Newt enjoyed what he was seeing. Or at least his body certainly had. It was shameful but it was the truth.     

“If you don’t want to talk about your evident issues with your dear Percival, might I propose a different distraction?” Newt jerked his head up from his musings to regard Gellert once more, noticing that he had not moved from his position draped nonchalantly against the wall, but Newt had moved to stand closer in his preoccupation. As much as he wasn’t keen on discussing much at all with Gellert, he did want to think of something that wasn’t Percival – that train of thought only led to feelings of confusion, guilt and pain right now. He regretted engaging in such an argument with his partner, even if it had felt better in a way to get everything out into the open air – he wished that he had been able to give Percival an answer when he asked Newt how he felt about Gellert but he honestly couldn’t say he knew _how_ to answer it.

He regarded Gellert for a few moments carefully before he nodded, deciding that even the absurdly detailed trips down memory lane that the dark wizard might offer him were better than lingering in the misery and frustration of his current situation. Keeping busy was always the best thing for him to do when he was upset and with nothing better to do, Gellert’s offer seemed pretty appealing. He felt the mental connection establish itself as it always did, a warm, dizzying haze descending upon his brain for a time before felt the end of the thread that was Gellert strumming into stronger life in a flare of silver. The blur of images, impressions and sounds came quickly as it had done several dozen times before, Gellert settled upon one memory in particular and drew it into sharper focus, extending it towards Newt in a clear, firm but still soothingly tentative gesture. He accepted it with the ready rush of otherness that had become his salvation over the past months as it allowed his own mind to shut off a little and simply experience what Gellert once had.

The scene that came was unfamiliar but not entirely dissimilar to some of the memories that Gellert had shown him in past – the setting was that of a luxurious looking bar, dusky red leather furnishings and dark hardwood floors that weren’t even scuffed despite the crowdedness of the room. There were numerous groups of people milling about, either sat in booths, leaning against the bar or stood chatting about the roaring hearth at the opposite end of the room to the glass-windowed entrance. It looked like any number of the needlessly extravagant wizarding bars that Gellert had frequented across the length and breadth of Europe except for the bizarre signage that floated in the air above the bar. In elegant curling, deliberately fluidly moving letters floated the name _‘The Fevered Eel’_.  From the moment he saw those words, Newt knew exactly what this memory was and seeing the handsome, fair-haired young man with striking blue eyes and impeccable dress sense only confirmed his suspicions further. The magically de-aged Gellert sat at the bar with a glass of Percival’s preferred drink – Ogden’s own-brand Fire-Whiskey half-empty before him, one slender hand curled around the glass whilst the other brushed absently at a non-existent crease in his burgundy suede jacket. Through the depth of the memory, Newt could taste the ghost of the fiery liquid’s afterburn on his own throat, smell and taste the stench of cigarette smoke lingering about the place and Gellert himself, a pack of cigarettes tucked away in the pocket of his slightly too big jacket. The look suited him but even with the youthful radiance of his skin and less daunting nature of his matching eyes, Newt could still detect the power and menace that coiled within his self-assured posture. The way his deep blue eyes flickered over everyone and everything in the bar with clear indifference and cold calculation both unnerved Newt a little and also made him feel an odd sort of privilege as Gellert had never looked at him like that. There had always been interest of some kind in his eyes when he looked at Newt and until now, he hadn’t quite appreciated how different the approach was from everyone else.

Newt could feel Gellert watching the memory too, not visually as he might’ve in a Pensieve but in the way of the bond beside him as they watched the memory unfold and at the same time, he also got the impression that the wizard was watching him too. He was judging his reactions, even when both had their eyes closed, their inner sight within each remained fixated upon one another. Newt wasn’t sure why the elder wizard was showing him this particular memory now, but neither could he quite bring it in himself to dispel the interest he had for exactly what had happened that night. He’d heard Percival’s account but seeing it like this was quite another thing entirely.

It took a few minutes of the memory progressing before Newt noticed that the younger version of Gellert’s eyes, whilst doing their silent circuits of the room, repeatedly flickered back to the same two places. To the group of rowdy, increasingly drunk men in dark, formal dress drinking by the fire who, Newt gradually recognised as being Aurors, if the loud talk was anything to go by as several of them boasted their high MACUSA ranking to anyone that happened to drift too close to their little party. And then his gaze would flicker to a familiar form sitting a little ways from that group – mahogany gaze flicking between his own glass and his colleagues with some begrudgingly amused disapproval. It felt odd too, to see Percival like this – before his imprisonment and, almost like Gellert, Newt was too struck with how standoffish he seemed to everything about him. A slight haze in his gaze – likely from weariness and alcohol – but otherwise he seemed thoroughly disinterested in the proceedings and his colleagues, despite sending him occasional glances, didn’t seem all that keen on his presence. It was likely because he was their boss, but any time any of the cheerful, drunken eyes went his way they would instantly seem to straighten themselves slightly and hastily avert them.

It felt decidedly strange to witness both men in a situation like this, in the time before he had known either – feeling conflicted over how much change they seemed to have gone through even if they looked and behaved in broadly familiar ways. The memory blurred onto some later part of the evening when both of the wizards Newt knew had consumed a substantial amount of alcohol, though judging from the sharpness that remained in Gellert’s eyes, Newt suspected that the dark wizard wasn’t actually inebriated. It made sense that he would want to be seen to be intoxicated though at the events that transpired after the bar had emptied of nearly all but the Auror group. Gellert stood, downing the last of his drink and making a convincing show of swaying slightly on his feet as he moved towards the door at the back of the bar past the group of Aurors. What happened next looked like it could’ve been an accident to anyone who didn’t know Gellert but Newt – knowing both the man and the final outcome of the evening – wasn’t fooled when Gellert stumbled into the backs of one of the burlier Aurors. A glass hit the floor, shattering quite spectacularly and Gellert made a show of looking shocked and apologetic, raising a hand to pat ineffectually at the man’s shoulder as he turned furiously. The tall, stocky man with sallow skin and thick mousy hair turned to face the smaller form of Gellert - the dark wizard’s now more muscular stature diminished by the transformation until he actually looked quite vulnerable. It was odd seeing him that way – despite the fact that Gellert had always been shorter than Newt, he had never really thought of the man as small because of his subtly stockier build and good sense of elaborate dark lord dress.

It was easy to see why, when the larger man grabbed Gellert by his collar and shoved him into a wall, fumbling his wand from his pocket and pressing it to the smaller male’s throat, that there was suddenly a flurry of protective Percival upon them in the next instant. The director’s familiar face was twisted in authoritarian anger as he levelled his own wand at his colleague and grit out words that made the Auror freeze in his movements. “I think you’ve had a little too much tonight, Galbraith, so I’ll neglect filing any reports of misconduct as long as you all get your sorry asses home immediately.” He glanced over to the other gathered Aurors who seemed to have sobered considerably and nodded hurriedly, one of them coming forward to grab the tall man’s arm and pulling him along with them. Newt watched on in a conflicting mix of uncomfortable emotions as Percival turned to the disguised Gellert who’s façade was further cemented with a look of shock and put a hand to the other man’s shoulder, guiding him firmly over to a nearby empty booth.

Gellert played his role well as he quaked slightly and accepted the glass of water Percival called over from the bar, staring off into the middle distance in a convincing imitation of stunned distress. Percival asked a few routine questions that Gellert answered readily, usual inflection lowered into a smooth imitation of an American accent – claiming his name was Edward Lantz and that he was visiting a friend in the city who had left him in pursuit of a nightly conquest. It all seemed so well-crafted and plausible that Newt was unsurprised when Percival seemed to take a quick liking to him if the lingering touches on Gellert’s arm and then his thighs was any indication. Newt could almost feel Gellert’s amusement melting through from both the past and present versions – both in his victory of the time and as Newt finally realised the reason that Gellert was showing him this now. He was making a point – showing him that Percival was not only a sucker for a younger pretty face but also had some sort of hero complex that translated into protective affection. It only painfully proved Newt’s earlier point he had made to Percival about Gellert’s abuse having been what brought him and Percival together. It stung to witness proof of it. It hurt to see the way that Percival pulled Gellert in for a passionate, if somewhat drunk kiss and that his version of the story that he had told Newt before had been exceedingly edited as the two men started effectively groping each other under the table.

Newt tried to tear himself away from the memory then but it flowed on despite his intentions, forcing him to witness the conflictingly arousing and heart-wrenching experience of the younger-looking Gellert straddling Percival’s lap, palming him expertly through his trousers in a teasing manner until they were yelled at by the barman and Percival suggested that they “take it back to his place”. It was a rather cheesy line even from Newt’s lack of experience in the world of pickups but Gellert played the perfect amount of coyness and willingness to get Percival – albeit a rather drunk Percival – to insist upon it. The memory continued only until just after they entered Percival’s apartment, Newt catching an impression of a fancy looking leather and hardwood affair that matched the tone of the bar in its extravagance but held a cleaner though still familiarly Percival scent that made Newt’s heart ache. That citrus-wood-whiskey smell that used to bring a fond smile to his lips but now made him feel slightly queasy after witnessing what went on between him and Gellert. After the fight they had had just before he came here – when he had been accusing Newt of having feelings for the dark wizard…sure, the situation might well be more complicated by far but after seeing Percival like that…it hurt.

Newt pulled back out of the memories with a hard jerk, face clammy with perspiration, body trembling but most embarrassingly, the mirrored pleasure of the memory plain in the strained fabric of his trousers. Uncomfortable arousal flushing his cheeks and prompting him to turn quickly away from where Gellert stood, breathing heavily and cursing inwardly as he could still feel the elder wizard’s own excitement reflected right back at him through the bond and the heated gaze that he was now fixing him with. It wasn’t just what he had witnessed that had had such an effect on him, it was also the way that the hunger of the recollection caught him up in the same way that peaceful memories Gellert had shared made him feel more tranquil, this one had made arousal flush through him like wildfire. He threw a glower over his shoulder at Gellert who was regarding him in a measuring manner; seeming eager beyond belief to approach him but also seeming to be waiting for something… consent? An invitation?

“Why did you show me that? Why now?” Despite knowing the answer, or at least suspecting that he did, he found himself muttering the questions bitterly without turning, head tilting a little to the side as he pressed his arms across his chest securely, keeping them purposefully away from the evidence of his half-hard state for the sake of a little dignity. Not that it wasn’t anything Gellert hadn’t seen or explored as intimately and thoroughly as he desired already but being in some semblance of restraint made him feel a little better about his lack of control over his body’s reactions. He’d had some practice after all, waking up half-hard or spent after Gellert had worn out his body to his sick content whilst he was in control, his often-naked legs covered in his own seed or his hole fingered open. After those occurrences had begun, Newt had made a habit of washing much more thoroughly and frequently whenever Percival came to the cell to release him from his bonds to wash and relieve himself - neither had commented upon it as it was a source of humiliation for Newt and fury for Percival.         

He felt more than heard Gellert step up behind him, lips ghosting behind his ear and body so close that Newt could feel the heat radiating from the other’s skin even through the thin layers of clothing. “Because you were ready to see what kind of a man your Percival is – the kind who gets off on playing the hero even when his intentions are as base as the rest of us.” The words were murmured warm and intense in his ear, tickling the skin with sensation and setting his other senses alight with the heat and smell of the other man. “You wouldn’t have accepted any of this before he finally admitted his doubts to you, but now you see the truth.”

“I love him, Gellert, it doesn’t matter to me what you tricked him into.” Newt said, almost trying to convince himself even as the images played again and again behind his eyes – not only the sting of seeing Percival with the one man the American truly hated but knowing that he had lied about it. He understood if Percival was ashamed of his actions, but it hurt that one of the few times Percival had opened up to him about his own traumatic experiences – as Newt had to him – that he had lied about it. He swallowed hard against the dryness of his throat; head ducked forward, away from the hot breath on his neck as he stumbled out more words. “We might’ve had disagreements but that doesn’t mean that I’m any more willing to give in to you.”

“And why not, sweetness? It’s meant to happen; you know it is. This is the last chance we will have before the bond is removed to be together as we are meant to be. Whatever happens during the attempt, there won’t be another chance to satiate your curiosity – I can feel it in you. Underneath all the defiance, you want to know what I could do to you, what it would be like to just give in… I know you do.”

Hands were just brushing the thin barrier between skin and skin around his hips, where his shirt had ridden up a little, exposing the skin, Gellert’s lips less than inches from resting upon the flesh of his neck and Newt was finding it hard to focus on anything else even as he stuttered out more words. “I-… I can’t…”

“Of course, you can, Liebling. It could be so good…and even should you still decide to go back to the arms of your besotted Auror afterwards, you’ll be all the more experienced because of it. You’ll know better what can make a man writhe beneath you and bend to your will, make him want you and no one else because he won’t be able to find proper satisfaction anywhere else…you’ll be all he ever wants…now is that really so terrible?”

Newt couldn’t find words anymore, the barrier, so thin and flimsy between them in wake of the power Newt held… and all he had to do to have those skilled hands and those treacherous lips on him was break through it. So simple really. His head was swimming, but he felt it bob slightly on his over-sensitised neck, letting the power flow through him in the moment and bringing a glowing silver hand up to brush at the side of Gellert’s face over his own shoulder. There was a brief moment of painful resistance before the strand between them burnt bright silver in his mind’s eye at the same time that the wards split apart like parchment.

He didn’t have time to consider what the sudden emptiness within his head was, as if a small part of him was snared away and blocked out before Gellert’s soft, insistent lips were on his. The elder wizard had tugged Newt’s head back almost onto his shoulder in a quick, jerking movement by fisting a hand in his light-copper curled hair. Now, however, he had thrown Newt around in a harsh move so that his sore back collided with the wall behind him, but as much as the pain shot warning signals through his brain, Newt could only moan into the kiss as the roughness sent further heat flooding fast through him to his already straining erection. Gellert’s kiss tasted just as he remembered it to – charged with metallic promise of lightning and blood but now holding a little more sweetness, though Newt shouldn’t place a specific taste to it, he still found it welcome and his own lips parted willingly underneath the assault. Newt’s lips and tongue coming to meet the other’s with fierce, dizzying fervency, not quit aware of himself but enjoying every second of the hazy pleasure nonetheless. Gellert’s hands were not idle, one fisted tight in the hair at the nape of Newt’s neck, arching it for better access to his mouth while the other glided down his back, tracing out lines of silver-glass through the material of his shirt before lowering to cup the curve of Newt’s ass.

Newt’s hips thrust forward against Gellert’s of their own accord, trying to gain some sort of friction in a desperate need to just alleviate _a little_ of the pressure that was residing there. He felt Gellert smirk against his lips and let out a low, furious groan when the dark wizard very deliberately drew his own hips back, moving his hand from Newt’s ass to instead pin his hips against the wall. His lips descended to nip gently, teasingly at the silver-glass lines on his throat, sending shocks of their combined arousal flooding and reverberating back through him in a wave that had him gasping, pushing against the grip even as Gellert chuckled out teasing words onto his skin. “Patience… sweet little thing, you’ll get what you need but not just yet…”

“Bugger it all-…” Gellert broke him off abruptly by tugging at the buttons of Newt’s shirt, opening them with nimble fingers while returning his lips to the task of descending with the progress of his rapidly exposed skin. The markings were having an inexplicably profound effect on him, sending their collective arousal barrelling through him in uncontrollable waves that seemed compressed between just the two of the them. It left no space for a trace of anything else and as Gellert’s probing lips found the scarred silver that tightly circled his nipples, Newt couldn’t really bring himself to care what he might be missing. Gellert always had seemed particularly obsessed with this area of Newt’s body whenever he set about exploring it with the Magizoologist’s own fingers and Newt certainly wasn’t arguing now as jolts of raging sparks shot from where Gellert’s notoriously talented tongue was lathing the raised, hardened nubs with all of his attention. Newt thought he was going to come undone on the spot when he felt the graze and sharp tug of teeth accompany the pinning hand finally beginning to work on the clasps and button of his trousers. 

His own hands suddenly felt incredibly clumsy and ineffectual as they ceased to hang limply, clenched fist at his side and began touching Gellert in kind, pushing up in between them to divest the elder man of his already half-undone shirt. He felt Gellert’s smile widen against his chest, lips leaving him - much to Newt’s disappointment - as he aided Newt’s efforts, stripping off his own shirt before grabbing Newt’s wrists, pushing them back against the coarse texture of the stone behind him. A little cogitation came back then, Newt tugging slightly on the grip, a hazy frown making its way onto his face when Gellert used one hand to pin him whilst the other dipped below the loosened waistband of his trousers. Clever fingers traced the curve of his pelvic bone, trailing over the smattering of light hair down to dance at the very edge of his arousal, the root of his cock tingling under the touch. That trace of sanity vanished almost completely but Newt still retained enough sense to keep tugging at the grip on his wrists and Gellert seemed to grow equally irritated and aroused as Newt managed to wrest one hand free and brought it up to push at the stockier man’s shoulder.

“G-Gellert…I-…I don’t…” He managed to stutter out the words despite the desire and multitude of other things fogging his brain – realising that this had already gone too far. That this was wrong. That he wasn’t in any sort of a state of mind to be making decisions this damning. This wasn’t Percival, once he crossed this threshold there would likely be no slowing down or stopping – Gellert would just take what he wanted and as much as the thought appealed greatly to Newt in the moment, thoughts of Percival quickly dispelled that. He was exhausted, he was confused, angry and scared and he was starved enough of physical attention that he had let Gellert take him this far – the man’s dexterous fingers wrapped tight about the base of his cock and the other working to recapture Newt’s hands against the wall. This wasn’t right at all. What the hell was he doing? Newt jerked harder against the grip, shoving at Gellert firmly with his freed hand, managing to actually dislodge him and Newt gasped jerkily when the hand slid roughly out of his trousers, the dark wizard stumbling back a step or two. His expression was caught between irate and excited at the rebuff and Newt grasped tightly onto the slipping waist of his trousers, bare chest and face flushed and sweaty while his other hand set about steadying himself against the wall.

He forced himself to meet Gellert’s impossibly intense mismatched gaze, the other man in a similar state of undress as him as both their shirts were discarded upon the floor between them, the man’s skin captivatingly moon-kissed and smooth over ridges of subtle strength. Gellert’s trousers were at the beginnings of being unbuttoned too, a significantly straining bulge against the tight dark material evidencing the thick outline of his cock. Newt swallowed very hard, feeling like he was choking on sand as he tried to speak. “I-…y-you-…we can’t do this… I _can’t…_ Percival!”

“Verdammt noch mal zu allen Höllen! Let go of your petty resistances, Newt! You want this as much as I, don’t deny yourself this for something that will never last. You belong with me and I refuse to let you throw this away now.” He was right in front of Newt now, the bitter, furious, possessive words spitting like sparks from the mouth of a Salamander and his hand darted forward to grasp tightly at Newt’s throat, slamming his sore head back into the wall. Newt’s mind sparked both in a flare of resurgent memories of similar circumstances and in dazed pain as his own hands came up jerkily to grasp and claw at the instruments of his strangulation. Gellert was grazing the markings with blunt nails, lips coming forward to claim Newt’s in another violent, suffocating movement – stealing every bit of air even as he struggled for each infinitesimal breath. It was overwhelming, his hands entirely too preoccupied with loosening the chokehold that was sending white and silver flashes through his vision in blinding rapidity to even think about the vulnerability he was providing for Gellert’s other hand.

The free hand was gripping his thigh, fingers digging into the curve of his ass tight and hard, Newt’s trousers and pants somehow having pooled about his ankles in his strangled preoccupation, he was gasping for every iota of air he could but nothing he did could slow the progress of the encroaching whiteness that was suffusing his vision and hazy brain. He became vaguely aware of Gellert’s lips releasing their lock on his as he could suddenly draw in that little bit more air and choke for it desperately, entirely too focussed on that task as Gellert lowered him towards the floor, his weak knees going readily with the collapse. _Air, air, you need air. Struggle, fight, beg, do something Newt. Do it now!_ The voice was impossibly loud in his throbbing head, still whispering but painfully all-consuming in its volume. Before he could even think about how to arrange himself to obey it however, the grip on his throat slackened and he gasped and gaped at the sudden rush of air that had him coughing and wheezing, arching up off the ground and into the body that was straddling him.

For all the exposure his current position forced upon him, Newt could only focus on the ability to breathe for several far too long minutes, long enough it seemed, for Gellert to have drawn his arms up above him and bound his wrists together with something long, thin and smooth that cut into his skin the tighter it was wrapped. When the young magizoologist clocked onto his situation properly, he gasped anew, jerking about underneath Gellert’s weight, pulling his bound hands down to stare in disbelief at them, recognising the ersatz rope as actually being the laces of Gellert’s boots. _Well that explained why he wasn’t wearing them_. Oh Merlin, this meant he’d been intending this all along. Of course he had, what else should he have expected from the dark wizard?     

Newt let out something close to snarl although it sounded more like a whimper as Gellert pulled his wrists back up above his head whilst moving the free hand to lower his own trousers, the movements grinding against Newt’s already over-sensitised body in distracting waves. Newt jerkily fought against both the grip, the ties and the haziness, face twisted in frustration and breath coming in short, sharp, desperate pants through his abused throat, everywhere Gellert’s body came into contact with his was burning and tingling in confusing, irresistible sensations.

“Gellert… Gellert stop, get off-… get off me!” The hoarse pleas morphed into a sharp yelp at the end as the older man’s fingers slid down between his thighs, shifting himself back a bit along Newt’s pinned legs so that he had room to run his fingers along the markings that culminated just along his hips and the tops of his thighs. The silver-glass running like tendrils of fire, caressing and encircling Newt’s pale thighs to just below the base of his cock, Gellert’s hand venturing further upwards past them until he was running deliberately delicate fingertips over the tip of Newt’s length. Newt couldn’t help the whine that left him as Gellert’s blunt nail teased the slit and he arched beneath him again into the contact, his partially deflated arousal returning in full force, hardening and making him forget momentarily about his struggles. That was the moment that Gellert chose to release his pinning grip on Newt and dragged his fingers down along his body until one was pressing at the gap between his thighs that was being held open by the pinned position. His finger met the entrance to Newt’s body and pushed in just a little, making Newt’s face screw up in pain and anticipation before Gellert eased it back out again. The dark wizard’s eyes were blazing in mismatched icy fire down at him, face drifting forward to hover inches above Newt’s lips and all Newt could do was continue to gasp for air and will the tears pressing so hard at the backs of his eyes to not fall.

“Relax, Liebling, it will make this much easier if you just relax and give yourself to me. Relinquish control just for a little while, I know you want it. You like it when I take control of you, whether its by my own hand or your own, you like it rough. You like being spread open and fucked as roughly as you can stand and then just _that little bit more_. You want to be held down and fucked until it hurts, your dear Percy doesn’t understand that, he never will. It’s why you’re drawn to me as you are. You want someone else to make the decisions, don’t you? Tie you down, mark you, punish you and fuck you until you get what you need.” His smile was nothing short of predatory, salacious and vile in equal amounts as he dragged his tongue across one of Newt’s prominent cheekbones. “I can give you that… sweet… sweet thing.” He punctuated each word with a stroke of his hand along Newt’s shaft, teasing him back to full alertness as he hitched his own hips forward and pressed his erection against Newt’s hole.

Newt felt his head shaking of its own accord even as his hips jerked in response to the stimulation and his bound wrists had long since gone numb in their too tight wrappings, lying lifeless and pale above his head against the cold stone floor. His throat was closed up, not just because of the rawness and pain but because of the helplessness that was swallowing him whole. He couldn’t feel anything other than Gellert. He didn’t know what the elder wizard had done to block out Albus’ part of the bond like this but all he could feel was the man currently straddling him, the man who was pushing his fingers past Newt’s lips and into his mouth. The appendages pressing down onto Newt’s tongue until he gagged, choking a little on both his own damaged throat and the digits penetrating his mouth.

The stroking continued, teasingly slow and experienced, long, slender fingers gripping his length and thumbing over his head, spreading precome over the glistening slit as the other hand explored his mouth further. After Gellert deemed his explorations complete it seemed, he withdrew the fingers and they swiftly made their invasive way back to press at his hole, the moisture doing little to abate the burning pain of the stretch. Newt’s face flushed harder, eyes scrunching tight shut as two fingers pushed in mercilessly, not giving him much time to accommodate to the pressure. He could feel dampness on his face, and he wasn’t sure if it was from sweat, lingering strands of saliva from his lips being forced open or tears. He began to writhe against the ministrations however when Gellert’s probing fingers brushed up against his prostate and sparks danced through his body and behind his eyes even as they shot open.

A choked gasp left the Magizoologist’s lips and he brought his deadened hands up from where they lay to shove heavily at Gellert again, the movements sending the numb pain of pins and needles up his arms which he ignored. Gellert’s stroking hand left to grab him once more and he leant forward, pinning him again but making the mistake of thinking that that would be enough to discourage Newt’s renewed surge of desperate adrenaline. Taking any opportunity made available to him, Newt’s head jerked up, teeth snapping within an inch of Gellert’s face, the wizard managing to jerk back just in time but the younger man still managing to sink his teeth into the pale flesh of Gellert’s pinning arm as it was outstretched above his head. Newt gripped on tight, digging his teeth in as hard ad he could and despite the bluntness, he tasted the coppery tang of blood when they managed to snag a small bit of skin as Gellert tried to wrench himself free.

The dark wizard let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a curse as he removed his penetrating fingers and brought the hand up to wrench Newt’s face away from himself with a harsh grip on his hair. Newt glared up at the elder wizard, wrists tugging relentlessly at the grip and eyes telling Gellert in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t done fighting as long as his mind was his own. The man could manipulate, distract, bind and beat him all he liked but Newt was finding some semblance of salvation in his fight; that he was somehow making up for his weakness. He couldn’t manage words, but he knew that his expression said it all, blood smeared across his lips and chin, small pieces of Gellert’s skin struck nauseatingly between his teeth as he bared them up at the older man.

Gellert’s expression remained trapped in the crossroads of anger and appreciation – Newt’s fight seeming to stimulate him further even as the extent of it proved disruptive to his endeavours – even if only temporarily. He seemed to decide up satisfaction however as he smirked down at Newt, grip tightening as he pulled Newt’s neck up into an arched position, exposed and vulnerable even as his head was pinned tighter to the ground. His words were hissed into the soft skin behind Newt’s ear, head wrenched to the side as he leant forwards to avoid Newt’s teeth even as the younger man strained against him still. “I was hoping to see more of that fire, so tenacious my sweet little Newt…” He practically cooed, tone shifting to something darker as his teeth caught his earlobe and pulled sharply, drawing blood for himself and seeming to savour the bitter taste as he licked his lips, pressing them briefly to Newt’s so that he could taste it too before leaning away. 

“But if you want to play like that then I’d be more than happy to oblige… half the pleasure, after all, is in the antici-…pation.” He dragged the word out far longer than it had to be, tongue flicking out to lick his own bloody red lips as he did so but Newt still felt unwanted shivers caressing his battered spine and he leant slightly, just slightly into the grip on his hair and away from those teasing lips.   

Newt was left in a moment of confusion and awful expectation before he jerked in astonishment when Gellert was lifting his pinning weight up off of him and using his grip on Newt’s hair to pull the younger man up onto his knees. Newt grunted in surprise, bucking and trying to use the new position to his advantage, trying to get his feet under him but feeling what felt like all the air he’d ever breathed expelled in a pained cry when Gellert’s knee came forward to strike him hard in the stomach. Newt crumpled forward, bound hands darting forward to catch his fall but was denied the opportunity as Gellert was suddenly there again, pressing up close to him and fisting Newt’s copper curls, wrenching his head back until he was on eye level with Gellert’s crotch.

The dark wizard was stood before him, just as naked as Newt, erect length hovering inches before Newt’s parted lips as he gasped in as much air as he could but also tried consciously to keep the away from the glistening cockhead before him. He eyed it and Gellert warily in quick, flickering, apprehensive darting glances, swallowing hard and bound hands hovering awkwardly in between them as he both tried to shield his own crotch and avoid touching Gellert’s despite wanting to push the man away. Gellert looked down at him with a patient, elated seeming leer, eyes glazed with lust and expression almost fond even as one hand was straining every hair in his iron grip whilst the other held his erection close to brush at Newt’s lips. “Now Liebling, if memory serves me correctly, I believe that you have a certain taste for Auror’s cock but I’m sure we can make do with something a little better, can’t we?”  

The words were twisted vilely with that smooth, compelling voice and despite Newt’s own unwillingness, his damnable body seemed to have other ideas as he felt a jolt of pleasure shoot though his abdomen and made his own cock throb harder than ever. He hated that he was still reacting to this brutal, forceful treatment as if Newt actually wanted it and guilt wasn’t a word that could even begin to describe how much he loathed himself for putting himself in the position in the first place. He tried vainly to turn his face away but was just jerked back into place all the more roughly because of it, tears stinging his eyes and he could now feel them as they trickled down his cheeks.

“Gellert please-” His words were cut off by the wizard stroking his free hand along the side of Newt’s face, hooking his thumb into the corner of plump, bloody lips and prying them apart with ease as his other fingers pressed under the hinge of his jaw. Clearly this was something he’d had experience in before and the thought made Newt sick, jerking further in the grip, feeling a few strands of hair leaving his scalp before Gellert made a tutting, hushing sound, pressing his hips forward until Newt’s lips were parted around the head of his cock. Newt didn’t give the man so much as a second of warning before he snapped forward, only the man’s quick reflexes stopping his teeth coming into painful contact. Newt didn’t have time to revel in the minor victory of seeing the outrage flicker across Gellert’s face before a swift backhand had his head spinning further and his lip splitting along the already existing bite marks.

Newt blinked hard, owlishly for a few seconds before turning his head back up to face Gellert with obstinacy but fear too at the no longer amused expression that was painted across the elder wizard’s face. He seemed impatient now; no longer willing to be patient with Newt’s reluctance. His voice was a low, fierce snarl that only held a barest trace of the previous fond coaxing. “Open that pretty mouth of yours, Liebling, or I swear that I’ll make you regret it.” He was seething clearly, furious that Newt had come close to harming him through his struggles and no longer finding it amusing now that his manhood had come under threat. Newt was trembling violently, the resistance in him being worn with each upsurge of reflected lust that Gellert was sending back upon him as he caressed the silver-glass lines over his throat again. The touch was gentle but the way his fingers were clasped loosely around the column of skin as his other hand held Newt’s head back at a painful angle told Newt that the wizard meant every word.

He didn’t have to put into words what he was threatening – Newt already knew everything that the man was capable of doing to get what he wanted. Not only what he could do to Newt but what he could do to Percival, to Albus to any number of the people or creatures Newt cared about as soon as he was free. It was an inevitability now – Albus had agreed to it and Newt in turn had agreed to continue allowing Gellert near him even after all this was over. It was entirely selfish, what Newt was doing – agreeing to the proposition because he was afraid of the consequences for himself – because he didn’t want to die and be still trapped between them forever. He had agreed to subject the rest of the world to Gellert’s fanatical, tyrannical evil once more because he was a coward. Maybe he deserved this after all. He didn’t deserve Percival and he didn’t deserve the modicum of dignity he was trying to retain. The thought wasn’t as damning as he thought it would be and it was with a head filled with the worse things Gellert could do that he swallowed past the vitriol in his throat and parted his lips.

Gellert released a slow, satisfied breath as he slid forward, being surprisingly careful at first as his length entered Newt’s mouth, the size and taste of it making Newt’s eyes sting further but he forced himself to breathe as evenly as he could through his nose and keep his tongue down as to not choke any more than was necessary. It became clear to Newt quite quickly that Gellert was doing this not only for his own pleasure but for the purpose of making a point – demonstrating to Newt and himself that he was the one in control and that all of this was just as inevitable as he had always said it was. He could feel Gellert’s satisfaction both in the hardened, slowly thrusting flesh in his mouth and through the bond that was blazing a blinding silver between them, Gellert’s hand tracing the markings again with adept fingers that sparked pleasure to life within both. The pace grew rougher however until Newt was breathing heavily and Gellert was panting, breathing out his satisfaction in an almost incomprehensible blur of languages and explicative. Newt couldn’t help gagging violently when Gellert’s length pressed against the back of his throat, spit spilling down his chin as Gellert pulled him forward so that Newt’s nose was pressed tight against his lower abdomen. All Newt could smell was the salt, sweat and vague Juniper hint of the man, he could taste nothing but the same and he choked, bringing his bound hands up to push at Gellert’s hips ineffectually.

He was suffocating all over again.

Gellert’s wandering fingers found his nipple again then, tugging on it cruelly and nails brushing the silver caressing it in an overwhelming surge of sensation that had him moaning weakly around the cock in his mouth. His already abused throat protested the rough treatment vehemently as Gellert continued to thrust faster and harder, pausing briefly on occasion to hold Newt to his abdomen again until he gagged before starting the process all over again. It only stopped when one particularly violent thrust brought the back of Newt’s head into contact with the wall and he almost blacked out again from the blow, lack of oxygen and overwhelming barrage of sensations being forced upon him. He slid backwards down the wall, spit-stained chin dropping onto his chest as Gellert withdrew and he could only choke and gasp in breaths whilst his vision dimmed alarmingly. Newt didn’t see Gellert crouch down in front of him but felt it when his hand tapped insistently on his cheek, sending little shockwaves of stinging sensation through him and he groaned lowly, tilting his head unconsciously away from the contact.

“Come now, Liebling, come back to me, you’re doing so well, come on now...” The coaxing, softly spoken words sounded nice to Newt’s fuzzed brain and he found himself turning his face back into the grip, nuzzling slightly into the warm, soft palm. The voice may have been nice but all he wanted to do now was slip into that deeper place of sleep but Gellert must’ve sensed this as his voice came again, this time firmer and more chastising in his ear. “Don’t leave now sweetness, you don’t want your precious Percy to see you like this do you? Be good for me and I’ll let you go back afterwards with no one else any the wiser for our little dalliance, now how does that sound?”

Newt’s throat bobbed hard again as he swallowed, nodding without even really thinking about the consequences of his submission but was brought a little relief when the bonds about his wrists were loosened. He thought about fighting then, his aching limbs and shattered mind rebelling at the thought of any movement but he noted quickly that the thin, cutting ties weren’t actually coming off, they were just being rearranged so that his forearms were now pinned to one another at the small of his back. He groaned at the increased pressure on his bruised, aching body as he was turned over onto his stomach but the only resistance he managed to put up was turning his face to one side so that his swollen lips and throbbing cheek rested against the floor when his hips were pulled up behind him. He took a little relief in the cool stone against his flushed, bloody face but felt further tears sting his split lip as they tracked down his face in shining rivulets.

Fingers pushed in inexorably; one, two, three, until Newt was gasping and shuddering harder than ever. He could hear decidedly wet sounds and feel it distantly as Gellert repeatedly rewetted the probing digits in Newt’s mouth before returning to his hole, pushing in deeper and deeper until Newt felt the tell-tale resurgence of heat flood through him. He couldn’t prevent or even really register the helpless sounds that were spilling from his mouth, muffled little by the angle at which his face was pressed to the stone and he was trapped in a confusing limbo between shock and ecstasy. There was a part of him clinging desperately onto the resistance and horror simply to allay the guilt of giving in but the pleasure and unbridled _want_ that was consuming him made everything that much difficult to gauge. Everything was painfully intangible and far too close at the same time and his own arousal hung hard and heavy between his legs, cruelly untouched even as Gellert’s own arousal began to press inside. He tensed up on instinct, shifting his body to try to get as much leverage as he could even in his bound, pinned state, though leverage for what, Newt couldn’t say. _Pleasure? Escape? Giving in?_

It burnt and stretched but Newt took some small relief in the fact that Gellert Grindelwald wasn’t the first one to do this, that he at least had the smallest bit of experience to know what to expect – to know that it didn’t always have to feel like this. That it didn’t have to hurt this much or that he didn’t have to endure the shame and utter humiliation of his body’s reaction to the gradually building pace of Gellert’s panted, satisfied words. “That’s it, Liebling, cry out of me…so good pet, _so good_ …you have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this, being inside you, having you writhing and calling out underneath me.” He angled his thrusts so that he was hitting the spot within Newt that whited out his vision and sent pleasure coursing through him every time, hammering hard and deep. Newt’s arms jerked against the bindings of their own accord with every lunge, the thin yet strong material cutting deeper into his skin with every movement as he tried to somehow pull his arms free so that he could support himself rather than have his face pounded painfully against the stone. Gellert seemed to realise his predicament after a while however and released a throaty chuckle, not pausing in his driving pace but moved one hand to untie the knots holding Newt’s arms captive.

The young magizoologist didn’t have any time to consider using the freedom to his advantage as his hands were instantly occupied with the task of supporting himself lest he be thrust further forward to collide face first with the wall. His pushed himself up on shaking, tingling numb, aching arms and tried to ride out each lunge with some kind of nonparticipation but with the new angle and the newfound ability to support himself and have a little sense of control over the proceedings, he found new levels of arousal. The hand not holding his hips in place went back to exploring the lithe planes of Newt’s torso, brushing over his sensitised flesh and skating over the aching skin of his lower back, the slender dip of his waist and the pronounced curve of his ass in tingles of warmth that had him shuddering for a different reason entirely. It was on the edge of pleasurably painful and oddly ticklish, but Newt found his gasps coming more frequently, his hips hitching in an uneven rhythm beneath him as his aching length sought some release. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but he was certain that if he didn’t find relief soon, he’d break apart in way that nothing else Gellert had ever done had managed to do. It was mortifying, painful and shameful but Newt’s utterly addled mind couldn’t find the capacity to care as he began to beg.

“Please Gellert, just-… please…it hurts, please….” His frantic mutterings petered off into whimpers as Gellert chuckled, hips hitching slightly in their rhythm and his hand came to offer a few quick, teasing strokes to Newt before moving away again to grip his other hip and Newt groaned out in desperation. The pace was relentless and the words spilling from Gellert’s lips weren’t helping matters as he was deliberately provoking him into some sort of frenzy to rival that of his own.

“Oh, how I wish this was under different circumstances, that we had more time and were out of this blasted cell... the things I could do to you – for you…you can’t imagine, Liebling… I could make you last hours, tied up, wet and wanting. I could show you a few of the little tricks I’ve picked up over the years… the more… _recreational_ uses of magic that most overlook….oh I could make you last as long as I wanted, freshly fucked and just waiting for me to finish you, begging and crying for my touch with every minute that passed… but alas for now I’ll just have to satisfy myself with hearing you beg so beautifully. But oh…!” He thrust particularly viciously then, hand fisting Newt’s hair and drawing him back so that he could see the look on Newt’s face. “I think you can do better than that can’t you, pet? Tell me what you want, go on now.” Gellert’s nails dug tight and sharp into his side and Newt gasped anew, letting out another small whimper that shamed him almost as much as the thought of what he knew Gellert wanted to hear. “Come on now my sweet little Newt, ask me nicely.”

Newt sobbed, shaking his head jerkily before he felt teeth sink into one of the few patches of unmarked skin at the junction between the back of Newt’s neck and his shoulder blade, he cried out, bucking forward as he was penetrated deeper than he thought possible at the angle Gellert had lunged forward to achieve with the bite. His arms nearly gave way, it was only the thought of colliding face-first with the ground and enduring Gellert’s no doubt mocking reaction that kept them locked shakily beneath him. The pace slowed and he could tell that Gellert was going to keep it unhurried and punishing until he did what the man wanted and so swallowed back his pride and pressed his sea-blue, red-rimmed eyes tight shut as he whispered. “P-please…please let me c-come...please Gellert… I n-need you…”

He could practically feel Gellert’s smirk as he gripped Newt again, fingers wrapping skilfully around him as he teased the head with his thumb, sending shocks through him that had him jolting again. “A little louder, mein Haustier.”

He cringed but choked off on another gasping moan when Gellert began to time his strokes with his thrusts and Newt shuddered hard, air whistling through his clenched teeth before he managed to separate them enough to grit out the words that would hopefully end this. “P-please Gellert… let me come...” Gellert’s laugh was on the wrong side of warm to be properly sane but he took mercy on the younger man and sped his frantic pace until Newt felt a surge of overwhelming sensation pool in his gut and then he was coming, spattering the stone beneath him as Gellert’s own pace stuttered too. The warmth filled him up from the inside, both satisfying and horribly, terrifyingly wrong at the same time as Gellert leant across his back as he finished, teeth digging in viciously at the apex of Newt’s jawline and throat and Newt’s arms finally collapsed out from under him then.

Thankfully the dark wizard seemed to have enough sense of twisted compassion and decency to catch him as he fell, drawing Newt back across the floor to the wall where he then drew Newt into his lap in a broken heap. The magizoologist whimpered as his body ached more than he realised it ever could from the simple pain of strained muscles, bites and bruising. Of course, he had vast amounts of experience with all of those things but never in these sorts of…circumstances. He shuddered violently, curling in on himself whilst simultaneously trying to roll away from the other body despite the warmth and comfort it provided in comparison to the cold hard ground. Gellert simply shushed him and tugged him back with a soft yet firm grip on his hip and the other arm drawing Newt’s own up to his chest and cradling him so that the Magizoologist’s head rested upon his chest and he was half-sprawled on his lap. Newt tried again to move but soon gave into his body’s exhaustion and aching pain, slowly collapsing against the other who smiled encouragingly and pressed a kiss to his forehead, brushing his hair back from his sweaty face in a tender motion that sent further shivers through the younger man.

“You were wonderful, Liebling, so, so good, sweet thing…” Gellert continued to whisper the sweet nothings into his hair as one hand stroked through it while the other brushed coaxingly across his half-pinned arms. Newt could feel the haze of shock descending upon him again, the multiple bumps to his head and his strained, abused throat discouraging any attempts at speaking but he absently noticed that the tears finally seemed to have dried up.

Maybe he simply didn’t have any left.

He couldn’t describe how he was feeling and didn’t even want to consider trying to – it was much easier right now to simply relax into the soothing touches and pretend that they weren’t being made by who he knew they were. Unlike the last time he had participated in activities similar - even if they were entirely more damaging this time around - a little sense came back to him before he could let himself fall into the welcoming embrace of sleep and he groaned. Newt pushed his legs up under him sluggishly and using the last of his strength to elbow Gellert in the ribs, slumped forward onto his hands and knees when the man withdrew with a pained huff.

He grit his teeth hard in effort and against the pained whimpers crawling their way up his abused throat as he fumblingly scrabbled at the stone around him, gathering up whatever items of his own clothing he could find and tugging them towards him. Newt swayed heavily and almost keeled over twice with the discomfort that pushing himself to his feet brought, even propped up against the wall as he was, when he scrambled to pull up his pants and trousers in quick, jerky movements. Not caring much at the show that he was providing Gellert with of his exposed flesh, feeling a shade less decrepit now that he was beginning to cover the physical evidence of what had happened. There was something damp staining the majority of his skin and especially his thighs, but he didn’t dare look down at himself to see what it was. He felt the beginnings of numbness seeping through him again and his deadened fingers shook so much on the buttons of his shirt that he ended up giving up halfway through as he staggered sideways into the wall. His breathing was coming in sharp, too fast pants and didn’t properly register himself falling until strong arms wrapped around him, bare flesh pale and warm against him as he was lowered to the floor once more.

“Shhh, just relax, Newt, you’re alright, Liebling, I’ve got you.”  

A wave of contentment and calm flowed through him that he knew - like many of the emotions he’d felt all too recently - was not his own and try as he might, Newt found himself drifting off against Gellert, heedless of the consequences that might befall him for doing so.

**A/N – Look, I’m gonna stop apologising for late updates because it stops meaning much by this point, I’m willing to wager so sorry for the last time.**

                      


	29. Chapter 29

**"That’s just something people say when they’re on their last leg and they need someone to say something to help them cope or someone to say something hopeful “I hope you’re okay”, but that's just something people say.**

**And if I meant every word that I ever said, you would probably question the life I have led, you’d probably think I’m an evil, broken person and you would be right.” – ‘Downhill’ – Lincoln**

Percival sat and he waited.

It was what he had been doing since he had awoken over two hours before, sprawled out upon the cell floor, a pounding in his skull and a throbbing, tight pain encompassing his chest. He had assessed that the blast that knocked Newt out of his plane of existence had also triggered that damnable unpredictable silver magic which had in turn protected Newt by throwing Percival into the opposite wall – resulting in a bleeding head wound and two fractured ribs. His first reaction upon waking had of course been to look about for Newt but had been forced to admit defeat as he saw no trace and realised that Newt likely wasn’t coming back until Grindelwald let him. As much as the thought aggravated and worried him, there was little else he could but sit and wait for Newt to return, not only due to that but because the cell’s wards had him trapped in here until the sun rose. It was one of the issues that came with using a cell built to hold Werewolves; the safeguards were designed to hold the magical inhabitant inside until they were no longer a danger and striking the wards as he had had resulted in them resorting to the basest protocol. It was one that admittedly made sense for the original purposes of the cell but for the current situation it was a mere irritation that he had to wait out – despite the wards being designed to respond only to Graves family magic, it was also not meant to be opened from the inside once those wards were triggered.

He would have to wait until the moon had waned which was another hour or so away if the insistent ticking of his pocket-watch in the empty cell silence was any gauge. He grew increasingly restless the longer he was forced to wait and had paced for some time, expecting Newt to reappear reasonably quickly and growing more and more agitated as he didn’t. Percival hadn’t meant to push him of course and certainly hadn’t meant to trigger the runes like this – he had just felt the uncontrollable urge to get out of there before he did something he regretted in his anger. The irony was not lost on him.

As it was, Percival had settled instead upon the mattress, trying to ignore his swirling, furious thoughts and beginning to have a new appreciation for just how much this damned place could really drain the life out of someone. He had never particularly agreed with his family’s policy of locking up any members who were cursed with the blood but now more than ever he could understand why his uncle and the other affected members of the bloodline had begged for the family to move away from such barbaric traditions in deference to the newer methods of dealing with Lycanthropy. The cell had not been used for at least twenty years because of the improvements but still was held occasionally as a last resort or threat should the affected members of the family – namely Lorcan and Percival’s uncle Oliver – become an issue as some Werewolves did. It was only by some damn miracle and Oliver’s strict guidance that Lorcan had not exposed the family or killed anyone yet in his reckless ways.

Percival had always felt the fortune of not having inherited the beast blood and while he did not think on it much as the subject was taboo in the family, it had been what made him slightly more tolerating of his mother’s insistence on him producing children with someone he could trust. At least until he met Newt that was. The paranoia was grounded – one of America’s most prominent pureblood, MACUSA founding families being tainted by Lycanthropy was certainly something that would not only put a stain on the reputation of the family but also jeopardize his position as Director. As much as views on the subject had moved on in the years since his distant relative Titus Graves had been bitten in the line of duty and had spread the curse along to his son before having the sense or courage to tell his wife, Percival still understood the need for secrecy on the matter. Fortunately, there had been a strain of the Graves bloodline that had remained unaffected in the form of Titus’ younger brother – Percival’s great, great grandfather, Lowell but the secret had been carried and kept ever since. The affected members of the family kept here in this subterranean hole beneath the house in the wilderness miles from any Irish settlement. It had been how his parents met – what met the two lines of Graves and Chant.

But thoughts of his family lineage and the history of the place in which he too now resided - at least temporarily - weren’t enough to distract Percival for long, he began to pace again, more restless than ever and with guilt eating ever deeper with every step. It was very nearly dawn when Newt finally reappeared and at first, Percival didn’t notice the abrupt end to his solitude as he had settled back down upon the mattress by this point, slumped in the half-daze of sleep and only roused by the subtle silver flash that accompanied the Magizoologist’s revival. He blinked dazedly a few times before seeing that it was indeed Newt who was currently curled across the room from him and immediately stood to make his way over as soon as his daze was burned away like morning mist. Percival approached slowly at first but soon realised that as Newt wasn’t moving, he needn’t bother being cautious of Newt lashing out and instead set his mind to the task of checking upon the trembling heap of Brit.

He crouched swiftly by Newt’s side, slowly reaching out a hand to turn Newt over onto his back from where he was curled tight into a ball on his side and frowned when the skin – even through his shirt – was clammy and shivering violently. The Auror managed to manoeuvre Newt onto his back, surprised at how much tension lay in his clenched muscles despite the fact that his eyes were still closed, breath coming in deeply though with a strained quality that he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t the strain of broken ribs as Percival’s own had been before he took steps to heal them, no, it sounded more rasping and desperate than that, as if the air was working almost smoothly through his chest and then catching in his throat. The reason for that became evident as soon as Percival managed to carefully pry one of Newt’s clutching arms from around his own shoulder and he saw the dark bruising surrounding the Magizoologist’s neck, reddening around the edges but purpling along marks that could only have been left by fingers. It was dreadfully familiar, and Percival felt a clenching fury of his own rekindle within him at the thought of the last time he had seen such marks upon his poor Newt – in the time during his recovery in the _Caligari Clinic_.      

His eyes searched over Newt as he shuddered in his unaware state, facial muscles twitched under flushed skin, a layer of perspiration and what looked like drying tear tracks, blood marring his swollen lips - something white clinging to the lower one - and a red mark occupying one cheek vividly. Along his jawline and in the space that was visible between strands of unruly copper curls were more vivid, dark bruising, looking like bite marks as Percival gently moved Newt’s head about to better face him. It seemed as though the magizoologist was still unaware as he didn’t react other than to continue shivering and strain to breathe in little jerky movement of his chest and abused throat. The Auror hovered, crouched and uncertain of what to do, frozen in a potent combination of anger, guilt and unsurety for several far too long seconds before he kicked himself back into action, withdrawing his wand…then pausing.

The times before that he had had to heal Newt’s broken limbs after Grindelwald’s little visits, he had had to be increasingly careful of any spells he performed due the encroaching presence of the _very_ magic-sensitive markings. It had become progressively more difficult to do so as Dumbledore’s experiments and Grindelwald’s incursions had continued and there had been cases where he had been forced to leave limbs to heal at a more natural rate in the gradual process of healing them as the marks spread. Now however, there was very little space left on Newt that he could safely perform such charms, and though the damage looked painful it also seemed to be mostly superficial, so Percival was hesitant to risk more violent reactions from the silver magic for the sake of bruising. It bit at him to not be able to help but he told himself firmly that if all went according to plan, the damn bond would be out of Newt soon enough and no such barriers would stand in the way of him taking care of Newt in he way he had failed to for so long.

It was hell to watch Newt drift away and be forced into a position where he couldn’t even offer so much a kind word or hug to comfort him lest he prove to not actually be Newt at all. He had dealt with it as he dealt with his more taxing Auror work – shutting off his emotions as best he could except for the basic level of empathic humanity that separated him from being someone like Grindelwald. He didn’t like that version of himself, but it had made the whole ordeal that much more bearable for him to handle so that he didn’t cave and react violently to Grindelwald’s constant provocations and end up hurting only Newt in the process. When weighing the difficulties against each-other, Percival had realised that he would rather distance himself rather than do something physical that he couldn’t take back – there was nothing more that he wanted to do whenever Grindelwald inhabited Newt’s form and used it to torment the both of them than to kill the cruel bastard and that was why he couldn’t let himself feel around this volatile Newt.

But now, looking down at the abuse that was so clearly Grindelwald’s work woven inexorably into Newt’s hunched, shivering body…he couldn’t control the guilt inside him at subjecting Newt to another bout of the bastard’s abuse just at a point when it was meant to be ending. He felt the familiar fury at Dumbledore rise in him – that his damn protections were apparently being thwarted yet again even when Grindelwald was meant to be magicless and as trapped as Newt had been. He debated waking Newt then, watching the way he was twitching in his unconscious state was unsettling and it made him worried that there might be some deeper hurt that he hadn’t yet noticed. Percival could only guess that the strained breathing was from the apparent attempts to strangle him, but he moved his hands carefully along the sides of Newt’s ribcage to make doubly sure that there was no danger of any broken bones puncturing his lungs. Feeling more satisfied that the bones were sure underneath his careful touch and Newt didn’t seem to feel the touches, though, as the Auror looked Newt over again he frowned as he saw that the rough brown material of the Magizoologist’s trousers was stained darker than usual.   

He felt something grip at his heart then, not tight or constricting to the point where he felt it might break apart, but slowly, inescapably digging invisible nails of pressure into the organ like shards of ice. Percival stared at the stained material long before he dared trying to touch it. A part of him telling him that the stains could be something other than blood or that they could be from something other than what he had feared most for so long. But no matter what he tried to tell himself or explain away, Percival couldn’t stop his trembling hand from going out to lightly touch the material covering Newt’s thigh, fingertips barely grazing but still coming away red. The reaction however was instantaneous, Newt jerked, and Percival quickly withdrew his hand as if shocked, looking down at Newt for any other reaction, any other sign of him waking but saw nothing. The Auror swallowed, brow creasing as he gently put a hand to the side of Newt’s face, stroking a thumb down the strands of hair that had stuck to the side of his face and frowning deeper when he felt cold, hardness under his touch. He brushed away the hair to see that the silver-glass markings had grown along past Newt’s throat and up around the sides of his face, dancing in tendrils along the edge of his jawline and up to the furthest parts of his cheekbones. On the left side of his face the silver-glass was even now grazing the very most corner of Newt’s eye and Percival could only pray that it would stop its progression before it touched the organ itself.

The direct contact to the marks seemed to work further in waking Newt as his brows creased, lips pulling in a pained tight line, head slumping to the side away from the touch with the slightest moan leaving his swollen lips. “Newt?” Percival ventured the name with an uncertain tongue, hand hovering just over Newt’s shoulder, hesitant to touch him again but wanting to wake to free him from whatever horror was troubling him in his unconsciousness and to better ascertain what had happened beyond the base knowledge that it was clearly Grindelwald’s doing. Newt’s eyes flickered beneath closed lids and his trembling seemed to intensify before suddenly stopping altogether and he rolled over very slightly onto his other side, facing away from Percival, arm coming down to wrap insentiently around his own stomach. “Newt? Can you hear me?”

Newt’s eyes didn’t open but his lips twitched a bit before he spoke, voice barely a mumble that Percival had to lean closer in order to hear “Y’h…c’n hear you...”

Frowning slightly at the rough, broken sounding words and thinking of his damaged throat, Percival reached out his hand again to gently touch the younger man’s shoulder, again Newt moved away – not jerkily or frantically, just with decided purpose that belied his hazy seeming state. “Newt…I need you to tell me what hurts. Are you okay?”

Newt curled into himself just a little tighter at the words, eyes flickering more rapidly under his lids, but he still didn’t open them. “M’alright… j’st tr’d…”

“No, Newt, I’m sorry love, but I need you to stay awake a bit longer and tell me what happened.” He paused when Newt flinched more violently than ever and the Auror swore he saw a flicker of white at the bottom of his fluttering eyelashes. “I promise you can sleep some more once I’ve made sure you’re okay. You’re bleeding, Newt, I need you to tell me what happened. What did Grindelwald do?” He hated pressing Newt like this but also didn’t relish the thought of how Newt might react if he tried to undress him to get a better look at whatever else injuries had been inflicted upon him. He couldn’t be sure but judging from the state of his partner and his reactions there was little else he could assume had happened apart from the exact thing that Grindelwald had been trying to do all along. That he’d finally forced himself upon Newt and that for all the protections and restrictions set in place, there had been nothing done to stop it. Percival could feel the rage and the fierce protectiveness swirling inside his stomach and clenching heart like vicious bile from one of Newt’s more venomous creatures, but he kept it as tightly locked down beneath himself as he could.

Newt didn’t need a vengeful Auror right now or a furious, uncontrollable partner – he needed someone to support him. Make sure that he knew that nothing that had happened was his fault despite what the bastard had likely tried to make him think otherwise. Make sure that he felt safe and that he felt he could recover from the worst thing that Grindelwald could have chosen to inflict upon him. Make sure that he wasn’t hurt by anyone else’s vile intentions, callous disregard, delusions, indifference, carelessness or stupidity. Be it from himself or anyone else.

The only problem was that he wasn’t sure what Newt needed right now.

He was folded in on himself, shuddering again but soundless against the cold stone floor even in his apparent agony. Percival didn’t dare touch him again for fear of triggering memories or fears that were best left undisturbed in his fragile state. He didn’t know what to say for fear of the same. He tried to think of someone he could ask for advice but none of those closest to Newt seemed like the right fit. Queenie would only suffer the pain and trauma of Newt’s fractured mind. Tina was in a vulnerable state herself with the evident issues arising between herself and Theseus over her continued attempts to hide her pregnancy. And the elder Scamander would likely have no better idea than Percival would and would probably only vent his rage and make things that much worse. Dumbledore was likely still busy with his preparations and even if he wasn’t, Percival wasn’t entirely sure he trusted the man much more than he did Grindelwald at this point. He had let this happen despite his pretences for care and protection.   

It clicked a while later as Percival hovered over Newt’s shuddering form coiled up on the cold ground and he steeled his resolve to have to leave Newt just for a short time for the better of the younger man.  He swallowed, briefly pressing a hand to Newt’s arm and feeling a little relief when no flinch came this time. “Newt… I’m going to go away for bit, but I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry. I promise I’ll come back.” He paused, moving to stand as New didn’t seem to react much at all. “Do… do you need anything?”

Newt shook his head, it was just a barely noticeable jerk but Percival got the message nonetheless and his lips pressed together thinly, holding in a multitude of words that clawed at the back of his throat – none of which that would likely help the situation.  Looking around hopelessly Percival exhaled out a shaky breath before removing his coat and placing it gently over Newt’s quaking frame, doubting that he would be able to convince Newt to move over to the mattress so instead settled for making him as comfortable as he could until he got back. Newt didn’t react to the warmth or weight of it but he could have sworn that he heard a small snuffle, curling slightly tighter in on himself under the coat as Percival released the wards, keeping one eye upon Newt whilst he did so, just in case he wasn’t all he seemed to be. Newt didn’t move or open his eyes though as Percival shut the door, resealing it behind him with heavy heart and a clogging, vile feeling in the back of his throat that refused to leave.

The apparation was easy and instantaneous the moment he was out of the boundaries of the house, wading through the now calf-deep sludge that had carved its way into the pathway and no amount of weather warding could dissipate it entirely. Percival had found himself laden with constant exhaustion over the past three months, splitting his already strained time between his work in New York, the issues with Grindelwald’s followers amassing even without their orders, his mother’s presence in his apartment and constant inquiries into Newt’s and his own welfare, Tina’s monumental task of coping with keeping her secret. Not to mention the strain that the whole damn circumstances of Newt’s imprisonment and his own inability to trust him was putting upon their relationship. And… well the new but not entirely surprising peak of Grindelwald’s vile cruelty… there was very little else that Percival could think to do other than what he now intended to do. Bringing back just a little of what made Newt so quintessentially _Newt_ and what had always seemed to be his refuge in past troubled times – what he had been deprived of for so long now.

He appeared outside Newt’s front door and made his quick way through the house and down the numerous flights of stairs to seek out the one type of support and comfort that he could think of to bring Newt without only adding to his suffering. Percival had taken on the task of assisting Bunty in the care of Newt’s creatures whilst he was otherwise indisposed, adding yet another task to his ever-pressing pile of duties but relishing a little in being able to bring Newt just a little peace in these troubled times. He wasn’t entirely sure if leaving Newt alone at this stage was the best of ideas but bringing Newt help required it and he intended to do so as quickly as he could in the hope that nothing would go horrendously wrong in the meantime…though looking at the track record so far… Percival shook the thoughts determinedly from his mind and concentrated upon his traversing of the habitats. There was a little difficulty in deciding who might be best suited to bring back with him, what with the obvious limitations of which creatures would trust Percival enough to follow him and not attack him in the process as even after so long there were some that still only responded well to Newt and occasionally Bunty. The Fwooper, Zouwu and Occamy young being amongst those that still reacted hostilely to Percival or simply eyed him suspiciously.

But as he thought back to the last time he had attempted to aid in Newt’s recovery after something almost as catastrophic as this, he felt the smallest of fond smiles twitching his grim set lips and headed straight over to the tree that grew from one of the lower levels. He still had a little trouble identifying any of the tree’s inhabitants by sight alone and not being able to communicate with the Bowtruckles as Newt could didn’t help matters but fortunately Pickett had long since seemed to decide that he trusted Percival and helped the Auror’s dithering by climbing up onto an eyelevel branch. The beady little black eyes regarded him curiously and then with a growing – surprisingly expressive – kind of melancholy as he seemed to catch onto Percival’s barely contained desperation. The American couldn’t help but wonder if the twig-like creature had always been this intelligent and compassionate or if it had simply rubbed off on him from spending years by Newt’s side. Either way he was gratified as the Bowtruckle chirruped resolutely and took a running leap to clutch at Percival’s lapels and clambered up to rest upon his shoulder with a little help from two fingers supporting him from underneath.

Percival looked about to other enclosures, some of the other creatures shifting, squeaking or grunting in agitation at the clearly tense mood about them, even Marius’ head rising from the water to regard the Auror discordantly. Knowing from experience that unless he wanted to be soaked and possibly drowned, Percival deliberately avoided the water’s edge and instead ventured back towards the stairs to hurry back up. He was only given a second’s warning to duck aside before a blur of screeching crimson and gold feathers battered his shoulders and the already sore back of his head. He swore, barely catching a falling Pickett who toppled from his shoulder as he righted himself on the banister at the apex of one of the flights, turning, baffled, to face fiercely intelligent black eyes that matched Pickett’s in their onyx hue but shone with a much more definable perception and hostility as he hovered before the Auror. Percival swallowed, feeling apprehensive at the rare bird’s clear agitation and penetrating gaze, unsure of how to react as both he and Bunty had all but left the creature alone up until now, only leaving food at the foot of the cliff near the other birds rather than risking approaching him directly. The only human that the as yet unnamed bird had shown any liking to was Newt who was of course not here, knowing the power that Phoenix possessed, Percival stood his ground, eying it warily and unmoving under its stare.

When the pause grew painfully long Percival risked meeting the Phoenix’s eyes directly, unsure whether it would get him killed or not and was caught in a moment of fierce temptation just to leg it and hope that that wouldn’t result in being chased down and killed by a damn bird. Sure, there was a chance he could fight it off but if he was being honest, he didn’t really want to risk hurting such a magnificent creature, let alone one that had brought Newt so much joy when he first brought in home. The Phoenix’s head tilted to one side as it seemed to search out something in his gaze, buffeting wings keeping it aloft just before him still before he let out a long, drawn out call and twitched its head towards him. Percival wasn’t sure of what the gesture meant until the swan-sized crimson bird flew forward past him, hovering and looking back in a clearly imperious manner and despite his uncertainty, Percival found himself following.

He got the feeling that he was doing the right thing as he followed it’s sedate yet determined pace back through the main house and it looked back to him in that same authoritative way and Percival let out an incredulous huff of half frenetic laughter as he opened the door. Quickly glancing about and casting a notice-me-not charm to prevent attracting the attention of any nearby No-Majs. He held a moment of panic, expecting the bird to disappear as soon as he let it outside, though knowing that Newt had only intended the creature to stay as long as it wished as it clearly had a spirit of its own, he still didn’t want to be responsible for letting a dangerous if solitary creature upon the skies of London. To his relief the Phoenix simply hovered before him again, gauging before carefully, clearly diffidently and distrustfully perching upon the very edge of his shoulder. Percival readjusted his stance under the new weight, stunned and confused but not willing to tempt fate or the bird by questioning the positioning and quickly regarding it nervously before apparating.

The unannounced move was met with indignant squeaks and the tightening of talons deep into his shoulder, the Phoenix battering him again with agitated wings before he took off ahead of the Auror. Percival stood, rubbing at the abused head area and waving a healing touch over his gouged flesh and clothing with a half-hearted glare at the offending bird, majestic and rare though it may be, it was somewhat like dealing with the creature equivalent of an undesirable combination of Theseus’ pompous, imperious manner and the kind of patient superiority that Dumbledore often treated him with. The kind of creature who thought themselves better due to vast experience and while they didn’t exactly flaunt it, they still wanted to make sure you were aware of their power when dealing with them. He kept a careful eye on the scarlet bird as it circled the house ahead, swathing itself in the depths of the moor fog before darting back out again and cawing at him, seemingly impatient. Percival honestly wasn’t sure if the Phoenix was aware of Newt’s position and had caught onto it through Percival’s own agitation or if there was something else at work here but resigned himself to trusting the instincts of a creature that had apparently earnt Newt’s trust in past. Although it didn’t help with his uneasiness to think of all the creatures and people that Newt had trusted that most wouldn’t never even consider doing so.

For instance, the man who was undoubtedly the cause of Newt’s current predicament. It had been like a slowly twisting knife to the gut when Newt had hesitated in his answer to Percival’s question concerning Grindelwald before. The mere fact that after everything the bastard had done that Newt would even have to consider his response was both a commendation to Newt’s ability to empathise with pretty damn near anyone but also a tear at Percival’s degrading faith in Newt’s sanity. He had tried so hard for so long to believe that Newt’s coping so… _reasonably_ with all that happened was a precursor to the young magizoologist finding some sort of acceptance over what had happened and eventually confiding in Percival over his true state. But after their disagreement earlier it had seemed more like Newt was slowly accepting exactly the wrong thing. That he was excepting Grindelwald’s advances rather than rebuffing them as strongly as he once had. That his strong will had been singed and burned away until the man who fought the darkness with everything that he had left had finally succumbed to it.

To him.    

The weather seemed to reflect his mood as the wind strengthened, swirling the fog into entrancing, dizzyingly spirals and causing the scarlet and gold plumed bird to fly lower and hover instead just beyond the boundaries of the front door porch. Percival let himself and the irritable looking bird into the house with the customary de and re construction of the perhaps excessive wardings, marching back along the familiar route. He found the smallest trace of amusement as the tighter confines of the corridor and spiral staircase forced the bird to hop along the floor as its impressive wingspan could not extend adequately in the small space. The going was slower than he would have liked as he was stuck shuffling at the limited pace of the bird in front of him but eventually they reached the door and while Percival paused to lower the wards again he eyed the bird suspiciously; remembering how Newt had referred to it as a distraction that had allowed Grindelwald to steal the Elder Wand whilst in his form. As ridiculous a notion as it may seem, he found himself casting a few revealing charms upon it just in case, by some bizarre miracle or insanely intricate plot, this Phoenix wasn’t in fact all that it seemed and was actually a servant of Grindelwald in disguise or the man himself. The creature reacted a little to the spells, looking up at him with inquisitive dark eyes but nothing about his appearance changed, not even the slightest of shimmers. Sighing in resignation, Percival relented and opened the cell door, glancing down at his shoulder as he heard agitated squeaks come from Pickett’s perch almost as soon as Percival had the door shut again behind him.

The Auror turned back to face the room, barely noting the fact that the Phoenix flew in after him, skittering to gracefully land in a heap of feathers on the edge of the mattress across the other side of the cell. Newt was not where he had left him, though his discarded coat still lay there, and Newt didn’t seem to have noticed Percival’s entrance despite appearing to now be very much awake and moving, albeit very stiffly looking and with little hisses of pain escaping from between clenched teeth as he did so. He was over by the bucket of water and his hands were in the middle of what looked like a painfully prolonged process of attempting to wash himself if the spilled water and raw pink state of the visible skin was anything to go by. The young magizoologist had stripped off down to his white cotton boxers which were even more worryingly stained through with spots, lines and blots of blood, the exposed flesh on the rest not faring any better. The rest of Newt’s clothes were cast off in a heap in the part of the room furthest from him and even as Percival stepped, cautiously but making an effort to make his tread louder than usual so as to not frighten him.

Percival watched for several seconds, unsure and standing about a foot or so from Newt as the younger man’s hands repeatedly scooped up handfuls of the cold water and scrubbed it as hard as he could against skin, ignoring the silver markings and bruised, occasionally slashed areas. It looked purely instinctual – a blind need to remove the taint and evidence from his skin, as if he could somehow wash away what happened with sheer brute force. And it was clear now, more than ever that Newt had been treated in just the way that Grindelwald had always intended. That the sadistic, deluded shit had finally gotten exactly what he wanted, at least in terms of Newt’s body that was, Morgana only knew if he had succeeded in breaking Newt’s mind and will to his purposes too with this final violation. But looking at how blank Newt’s gaze was, how empty and vacant his movements were… in that moment as Percival stepped around to see his face…Percival honestly couldn’t tell. He couldn’t see a trace of anything that made Newt, Newt but then again, he couldn’t see anything. The Auror could only hope that it was down to shock and that with the right sort of treatment Newt could get past this… but he wasn’t naïve enough to think that things would ever be that simple.

There was always something. Always something lingering beneath the surface to make things worse just when they started to get better. **(That’d be me dearie)**

He crouched, lowering himself to be on level with that horribly empty gaze that focussed upon him but didn’t register anything more than a slight haziness, a minute lowering of his lashes perhaps – as if in deference. Or fear. _Mercy Lewis be damned he hoped it wasn’t fear_. The thought that Grindelwald had likely spun his usual web of lies and manipulations and trickeries around Newt as he defiled him was too real a prospect to ignore and Percival felt tears press hard and heavy at the backs of his eyes as he looked on. How was he ever going to ever stand a chance of salvaging what was left of Newt after this? His partner had yet to utter a word or react badly to him, yet Percival already felt so adrift that he felt inordinately grateful to Pickett when the Bowtruckle clambered down his arm and seemed to catch the distant attention of Newt’s dead eyes.

They sparked, just for a moment and Percival felt a little of the stranglehold on his heart loosen at the sign of recognition, that his hunch had proved correct even if just a little. He offered Newt a careful, strained tentative smile, barely a twitch of his brittle feeling lips, swallowing past his rising misery to try to provide as supportive a front as he could.

“Newt?” The wizard in question’s eyes did not leave Pickett but he had paused in his mechanical, detrimental scrubbing, hands dripping pink and cold onto the stone below. He looked like he wanted to instinctively reach forward to take Pickett from him and Percival watched on, hoping that he would do just that but felt disheartened when Newt didn’t move. He was shivering still, cold water running down his skin in rivulets that glistened along the silver lines and his dishevelled curls were clinging damply to the sides of his face in limpet clumps – either from sweat or water, Percival was unsure. Pickett chirruped again, reaching the end of his path, resting upon the back of Percival’s hand and regarding Newt intently, reaching out a spindly little green hand in turn towards him in an apparently more entrancing mimicking of Percival’s supporting gesture. Newt’s tainted, blank blue-green eyes never left his small friend, crouched in his vulnerable looking, shivering, near-naked and abused state, his head tilting slightly as Newt chirruped faster than ever. The meaning lost upon Percival but seeming to obviously mean something more to the young magizoologist, Newt’s eyes not changing but clearly understanding whatever was being said.

Percival took an opportunity as the two shared whatever meaning they could between each other to glance back at the Phoenix, he too was watching the interaction with awareness but looked more sorrowful now than imperious. Percival’s attention was snapped back to his younger companion as he heard a light thud, seeing Newt’s knees falter in their crouching position as he fell backwards. Percival had placed Pickett upon the ground reaching forward to help Newt lower himself more safely down before his sense had caught up with him and he flinched, expecting Newt to recoil at his touch as he once had. He was surprised as Newt didn’t react at all, letting Percival put a careful arm around his shoulders and back to guide him down to lay upon his side on the ground. The Auror glanced behind himself, calling the mattress over and even managing to manoeuvre the Brit onto it with little trouble, Newt was not limp in his arms, fully aware seeming of the contact but he didn’t challenge it either. Percival wasn’t sure whether to be reassured or more troubled by this acquiescence.

When he had Newt settled again he drew his legs in on himself, lips set in a tight line as if he was were trying to hold in sounds of pain, eyes fixed upon where Pickett stood upon the mattress beside him, the little creature moving forwards to place a sticky hand upon Newt’s bare foot. Newt seemed to react more to this, eyes focussing slightly more clearly and a hand going down to gently extend a finger to the Bowtruckle, touching it softly to the extended twig-like limb. A few seconds passed before Newt’s eyes lifted up to fix somewhere upon Percival’s shoulder, not meeting his eyes but the Auror felt a tight hope build in him at the attempt at some form of contact and decided he could maybe risk speaking. 

“Newt? I know this is difficult but… can you tell me what happened?”

Newt didn’t flinch, didn’t shift his gaze but he curled a little tighter in on himself, lips parting very slightly as if to speak before a look of fright flickered over his face, so fleeting that Percival was almost not sure he’d seen it. But fleeting or not he marked it both down as another possible sign of progress and as a reaction that constricted the grip on his heart further. He considered for a moment more, still crouched to the side of the mattress where Newt was curled before speaking again, trying a different approach in a cautious voice.   

“Do you need some help taking care of those?” He asked, indicating the numerous wounds and stains upon his body and Newt looked down at himself, numbly seeming to take in the state with the similar detachment as before, eyes skating with dull surprise. Newt seemed to consider himself for a time before his head dipped in what could have been described as a nod and Percival jerked a little in his own surprise, honestly not having expected Newt to be so…accommodating to anyone trying to help or touch him. Because of this he found himself unsure of how to proceed – whether to help Newt to help himself, do it entirely for him, to use magic or not? There were a lot of ways he could go about this and at this stage - remembering the time spent in the Austrian clinic after his captivity and subsequent trauma – Percival knew that establishing familiar or comforting behaviour and precedents would affect how well or if at all Newt recovered.

So, as he reached over, holding out a conjured cloth in an open palm he felt gratified when Newt took it from him wordlessly, eyes flickering absently between his own hands, Pickett’s place resting upon his bare foot and Percival’s shoulder. It was a slow, meandering progression, as if his eyes were taking it in but not really thinking much of it at all. Percival chose to divert his own stare to the bucket of water, warming the cold liquid to a more comfortable temperature just as Newt dipped the cloth into it and the younger man sighed just a little as the warm water encompassed the sore looking welts about his wrists and lower arms. It was hard to tell what with all the branded silver and the distortion of the water but they looked like the abrasions of rope; thin, raw and bleeding in some places. That posed the question of how in hell Grindelwald would’ve got the ability to bind Newt in such a way when he himself was meant to be the one imprisoned but Percival put aside as a worry for later, when he wasn’t faced with the sight and horrifying, guilt inspiring sight of the blankness and pain within Newt.

They stayed in a similar position for several more minutes as Newt gradually continued the mechanical process of washing himself, though thankfully more gently than before, hissing under his breath occasionally as the cloth caught on particularly raw flesh but otherwise remaining silent. When Newt had washed every inch of himself above and around the area that his stained underwear was covering, he paused, his hands beginning to shake harder, eyes blinking rapidly and a sound that was dangerously close to a whimper escaping his tightly pressed together lips. Percival saw his eyes flicker in his own direction and quickly realised that it was his presence that was making him uncomfortable and he cast his gaze about for a moment before standing and stepping over to the other side of the cell where Newt’s ruined clothes were still in a heap. He turned his back purposefully on Newt to give him some semblance of privacy as he took his time cleaning and repairing the frayed and stained shirt and trousers, feeling slightly relieved as he heard the light sound of splashing water. He tried not to flinch at every gasp and barely contained sound of distress that he heard and purposefully did not turn – both for Newt’s sake and because he honestly wasn’t sure if he could handle seeing the damage that Grindelwald had done to him.

It wasn’t as if he was any less loving of Newt because of what had happened – of course he wasn’t – but the sights that his mind’s eye was conjuring, the sort of rough treatment he knew could occur when one participant of sex was unwilling; especially between men. Especially when the perpetrator was a deluded sadist… he wasn’t sure he could handle seeing Newt like that and he doubted that Newt would want him to either. Percival could already feel his own hands shaking as he gripped the fabric in one hand and his wand in the other, finished with his work but unwilling to turn as honestly… he didn’t know what to do or say. He had exhausted his ideas already just by offering Newt the barest of human comforts and bringing back just a little of his life – the creatures that made him so happy otherwise – and now he didn’t know what to do. This whole situation felt both horribly familiar and incredibly daunting. It wasn’t the first time he had attempted to help Newt through something like this but the last time the best thing he’d been able to offer was a hand to hold and then leaving Newt for the subsequent months with his family, creatures and friends to help him.      

He couldn’t do that now.

He couldn’t leave Newt, and neither could he bear the eventual, inevitable moment where he might touch or speak to Newt and the man would recoil as he once had. The only reason Percival could guess he wasn’t doing so already was shock, that he hadn’t properly processed what had happened, or hell, that the selective memory blanking had happened again either due to trauma or too rough physical treatment. Whatever had happened, Percival didn’t want to risk scaring him, especially with the damn prospect of Dumbledore attempting to remove the bond from him soon. He wasn’t sure when the older British wizard was coming to make the attempt or even if he still was – why the hell hadn’t he stopped this from happening? Wasn’t he meant to be part of the bond? How could he have missed this? Or had he purposefully ignored it.

The thought made rage flow through Percival’s veins like poison, contracting his tense muscles and whitening his knuckles around his wand, but he determinedly pushed it back as best he could. Getting angry and violent now wouldn’t help anything. No, it would be better to save it for when the damn teacher responsible for most of this released Grindelwald from his imprisonment and protection. Then he could confront the dark wizard and ensure that he paid for everything he had done. Death was too kind for something like Grindelwald, but it was also the only thing that would satisfy Percival now; both in his desire to keep people – especially Newt - safe from him but also for retribution on the behalf of all that had already suffered at his hands.                                                                                  Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**“They'd ask me where it hurt and wipe the tears from my eyes, sure embraces, gentle forehead kisses, making sure that I was alright.**

**As I grew older and the nights grew shorter, I no longer cared where it hurt, all I hear is, Whisky Lullabies, there to cradle me to sleep.**

**…Scars they heal in time, the raw wounds on my mind, they aren't so easily fixed, you can't mend what isn't broken…** **Drowning as I sink or swim.” – ‘Whisky Lullabies’ – Janet Devlin**

There was movement and sound around him. Sometimes there was. Sometimes there wasn’t. it didn’t seem to matter all that much. He saw things in blurs of indistinct yet painfully clear colour – mostly greys it seems, the odd splashes of darker or lighter and two separate yet equally distinct spots of bright colour. One red and trimmed with shining golden strands. The other small and vibrantly green. Both seemed more interesting - oddly familiar and bright in a swimming, hazy grey world. Newt wasn’t detached as one might expect however, he could remember every single event that ran up until he had awoken to the feeling of hands upon him in a light and careful touch. He remembered his creatures. He remembered his brother, his family and his childhood. He remembered his friends, both new and old. He remembered Leta and Queenie and Tina and Jacob. He remembered Hogwarts. He remembered every moment of his extensive travels. He remembered Albus and Gellert and Percival. He remembered it all. Everything that had happened.

He just couldn’t seem to quite get his senses to connect what he saw and felt, what he heard and smelt and tasted exactly with what he was experiencing now. Everything was just jolted just slightly _off_ , just enough to be indefinably wrong even as his brain tried to console him with the fact that everything seemed to be working more or less as it should have. He knew what had put him in this state, every single painful, pleasurable, conflicting, confusing, awful moment of his experiences with Gellert. What he had done, what had been done to him, what they had done together but it still didn’t explain the way he felt now. When it had been happening and in the brief period of lucidity afterwards in Gellert’s arms he had expected this to wreck him. To wrack him with guilt and tear him apart and while he could still understand that; feel it deep within him like scarred tissue that was rotting and festering even as it was healing and sealing closed… he couldn’t quite connect that with his physical reactions. It was like his body, soul and mind were disconnected, ripped at the seams in conflict and confusion – that he had torn them separate to protect himself. Or maybe protect someone else. He wasn’t too sure.

Even now that his eyes were open, he could only seem to register spots and movements of colour that overlapped a deep impenetrable darkness that permeated his vision like smoke. But there was again something wrong with it all.

If it was dark, then why was the darkness so dazzling?

It shone and shimmered before him, both calming his ravaged mind and causing a deeper panic to set root within him that he couldn’t seem to translate into physical behaviour. He could feel his body was aching, bloody, bruised and abused and the occasional flares of fresh agony set his nerves alight and helped to reconnect his brain with himself a little more each time. It was like the more pain he felt the more real the colours and world around him became, things making a little more sense with the familiarisation of those sensations. The words that had and were still being spoken came into clear focus, his name repeated… a lot and with a voice that was something to sew back together the loose threads and cauterise the festering wounds with guilt-ridden fire.

Percival’s voice.

Newt thought that was a good thing – that he could hear Percival’s voice and that he felt soft, careful touches and that he was being helped to rid his disjointed body of some of the filth and pain. They sounded in his memory as something familiar and comforting. But he also wasn’t sure if he was deserving of that comfort. Whether or not Percival should care as much as he did. After what Newt had done, after what had been done to him. After what Percival too had done. The faces, meanings and motivations blurring in-between one another as they had in past. Confusions over identities sparking as common mentalities in Newt’s memories as he sifted through them.

Percival being Gellert.

Gellert being Percival.

Newt being Gellert.

Gellert being Newt.

_Gellert inside Newt…_

It all hurt to think of, but Newt found himself savouring that pain as it drew everything ever closer into tighter focus. The people, feelings and memories were all so muddled and knotted like Devil’s Snare, but Newt was somewhat content to let them remain that way. Dealing in absolutes had never been his strong suit. There had been a reason why he always tried to stay out of things. Why he tried to stick to himself and not choose sides.

_Oh, and look how well that went._

The voice was as per usual making more sense than anything that he had to say to himself or maybe that was him, he honestly had no idea. But whatever the case may be, he knew that remaining unaware and in this pleasant, unpleasant dazzling darkness and occasional flash of pretty colour seemed like a much safer option. More fitting for him.    

He didn't want to know the difference. Didn't deserve the difference to matter.

Newt may not be sure of much, but he was sure that the hand he could feel currently resting upon his own - pressing it down into something soft and warm, damp skin to damp skin – was not something he deserved. As he had earlier, he pulled his body away, not scared or hurried, just silently trying to communicate that he was best left alone; where he couldn’t hurt anyone or be hurt. He may like the soft touches, but he also didn’t think that he deserved them. They hurt in comparison to the rougher more recent memories because he knew that if they were truly Percival – if that blur of black, white, whiskey brown and grey was who he thought it was...that the Auror shouldn’t be treating him this kindly. Newt had betrayed him. Not only that but he had revelled in it in some depraved, twisted way. And to cap it off – even if none of that were the case… there was still the gaping issue of how much pain he caused the long-suffering man just by his very existence. Since they had met, he had presented Percival with nothing but suffering masked by the justifications of their love for one another. Was love really worth it when he was ruining Percival over and over like this. He may not be able to focus his confused eyes enough to see him, but Newt could still hear the pain in his voice, choking and grating it raw and bloody as Newt’s body was. He couldn’t justify doing this to Percy.  

Newt knew that there was going to be a break in the bleakness soon, that the burning silver would be back soon, the same silver that had scorched him alive – inside and out in so many ways and for so long. Albus was going to try to rip it away and it would hurt. He knew that much. With how deeply the silver was ingrained and snared within him, it would likely be the worst pain he had ever experienced but that wasn’t what he was afraid of. Some guilt-shrivelled part of him revelled in it in fact. No, it was the thought of the after that scared Newt. The hollowness that threatened to follow, the empty, black, painful pit that he would become one way or another… he worried about how just how deeply Percival should be dragged down into it before Newt abandoned his selfish, cowardly ways and let him go. He couldn’t let that happen. Percival deserved better and Newt wasn’t going to allow this to continue further than it had already. If he lived through this then he would disappear, he would cut himself away like a malignant tumour from the lives of the people who deserved better. Percival wasn’t the only one who deserved better – Theseus and Tina were starting a family together, they were bringing a child into the world who needed a safe, happy world to grow up in. Newt could well be responsible for destroying that by what he had done to set Grindelwald free and what he had done to his family and friends personally.      

Newt felt the hand back again, on the side of his face and turned away, focusing instead again upon the little green blob near his feet. The blur of vibrance was familiar but with less associated memories of betrayal and guilt, a constant companion and protective friendship that might be tried but was simple and strong enough to withstand it all. Pickett. He connected the name and the memory then to the little green blur and it focussed a little, not quite a picture but a vaguely defined shape. He felt a sticklike limb upon his hand and lifted the creature up to himself in an instinctive gesture born of long routine, feeling little limbs twine in his hair as the Bowtruckle clambered up the side of his head. His lips pulled up just a little in a fond, sad, distant smile for just a moment as he pulled his limbs into himself, curling in on his side to preserve the little warm spark he could feel kindling and sputtering within his chest. Even as the constant cold, tiny droplets of water dripped from high above, causing it to struggle more with each passing drip. Drips made up of the thoughts and feelings built up behind the ever-leaking dam, bending, breaking and bowing under the weight of the water.

He heard the voice again, his name formed somewhere within the blur of grey, black, white and piercing mahogany, that concern and pain tinged with hope by the sounds of it and Newt found that he liked that sound. He wanted to hear hope in Percival’s voice, wished it meant that he wasn’t hurting him anymore, now if only he could figure out what had made that change happen in the first place. What had he done? He felt disconnected still from his body in odd ways so couldn’t be exactly sure of what he did other than look down and recognise Pickett. Had it been the recognition? Was Percival afraid that Newt wouldn’t recognise him? Or had it been the movement of his lips? Maybe he should try smiling again. He did so and he heard the voice again, sounding even more concerned and hopeful in equal amounts and Newt’s smile faltered – had he done it wrong? He never had been very good at reading social ques or offering comfort to others.

Newt tried then, concentrating all his effort on focussing his gaze past the blur of colours and the dazzling array of darkness, pinpointing in on those two spots of warm whiskey colour out of the greyness and black. It took some time and effort but eventually it happened, the focus shifted, and he could make out the blurred lines of sharp facial features, the eyes shining out with concern lacing them heavily, lips twisted into a thin, grim smile. They alit like beacons then, blurring out the surroundings and making everything harder to focus again but Newt worked at it nonetheless – it was making Percival happy so why shouldn’t he try?

He did so and this time he saw the grimness fade just a little and Newt’s smile became a bit more genuine, he shifted himself a bit to better face Percival, letting out little gasping pants of breath when pain flared anew through him. The relief on Percival’s face faded and Newt’s smile faded with it, settling into a grimace as the colours danced in his vision again before he made efforts to set them right again. When the swirling stopped and he was upright again he looked back to the American with an almost expectant expression, wanting to see the hope again and feeling himself sink further when it didn’t appear. Percival was regarding him oddly, warily and with pain present behind the careful calm – he was guarding himself which was probably also good. Good for him. Newt shouldn’t let it bother him.

“Newt?”    

Newt tilted his head a little, focussing hard on the eyes that had become his anchor, an anchor that seemed to drift before him as Percival shifted with every heavy sounding breath, moving a bit closer to him on what felt like a mattress. That motion sparked up more familiar, confusing memories – mattress and a weary looking Percival, reaching out to him and the fear… it made him shrink back against the wall. Primitive instinct guiding his body even as his mind couldn’t seem to manage to and he felt further guilt rise in him as Percival’s expression crumpled. Newt quickly cast about for something to do to fix it and jumbled out the first words that came to him in the hopes that they would help.  “S-sorry- I’m… M’sorry…b-bloody buggering hell I’m so s-sorry…”

_Well that could’ve been more eloquent._

Newt was forced to agree with the voice yet again as the stumbling, grating, barely audible mumbles left his sore lips. Percival however, looked caught between misery, anger and an odd sort of hysterical amusement, he opened his mouth as if to speak but seemed to think better of it and instead put a tentative hand on Newt’s shoulder. It was only then that he noticed that he was dressed again, his clothes clean and skin under it feeling surprisingly unsoiled, free of the dried blood, sweat and… other things that he didn’t want to think of right now. Or at all.

Newt didn’t react to the touch, managing to control his stupid first response to flinch away but also resisting the desire to lean into the touch. He didn’t deserve comfort from anyone – especially not Percival. His apologies may have come out of nowhere and in possibly one of the most incoherent ways possible, but they still needed to be said and in some odd instinct Newt found himself looking up to the little blur of green that was solidifying into Pickett’s legs dangling from his fringe. The little creature was hanging from his hair, resting feet on Newt’s nose now and using a free arm to pat affectionately at Newt’s cheek in a way that was so painfully familiar and sweet that Newt felt tears pressing at his eyes. He smiled again, watery and painful, reaching up to support Pickett and push him back up to rest on his head again so that Newt could better focus upon Percival who was regarding them both with a slightly reminiscent expression. Newt too could remember a similar scene from that time nearly a year ago in the Austrian clinic and he channelled a little of that twistedly fond reminiscence into a small smile to offer Percival.

“Newt… you have nothing to be sorry for.” Percival said, tone even though strained at first and Newt couldn’t help the jerk that his head did upon his neck in response to the words, denying them even as he pressed his lips tight closed. Percival’s eyes narrowed a fraction, but he continued, voice low and soft and hand pressing gently upon his shoulder in a firm, supportive seeming gesture. “I would appreciate it if you could tell me if there’s anything that hurts? I just want to make sure that you’re not seriously…injured.”

Newt swallowed, throat still raw and thought about the question for a few moments before deciding that there was no harm in answering truthfully, he would just…tone it down a bit so as to not upset Percival further. He focussed very hard on producing the words and placing them as he meant them, eyes fixed upon Percival’s extended arm the entire time. “My throat…hurts. Few bruises…hit my head I think at some point...?”

He trailed off, unsure and unwilling to voice the troubles he was experiencing within himself, both physically and mentally. The pain he was experiencing in his lower regions was not entirely new but most definitely a lot more severe than the last time – aching agony flaring to life within him every time he shifted. He could also feel every trace of the living silver-glass branded into his flesh thrumming with life and what seemed to be dual satisfaction and horror. And on top of that, not as painful but just as unmentionable, the bruised bite marks lining his neck, shoulders, jawline and even what felt like the skin of one of his wrists. It would all just make Percival more upset to mention even if he’d seen it in Newt’s earlier exposed state, so Newt didn’t vocalize those deeper pains and of course the Auror seemed to notice this as his brows furrowed further. Handsome features marred with exhaustion and so much barely restrained emotion that it hurt to look at, that’s why Newt preferred eying the blank dark material of his sleeve rather than his eyes. It was far easier.

“Yes, I could see that much.” Percival’s voice was painfully patient, hesitant though it was, and his grip tightened a little on Newt’s shoulder, the muscles beneath the sleeve tightened and coiled with palpable tension. “I’m sorry that I can’t do anything to help with that because of…” He gestured widely with his other hand at the markings visible upon Newt’s skin and the young magizoologist nodded his understanding softly, aware of the adverse reaction they had to magic performed directly upon the affected areas. Percival hesitated again before continuing with a steelier note in his speech. “Grindelwald hurt you – I know he did and I’m sorry that I placed you in that position again, but I need you to tell me what happened. I won’t blame you for any of it – I couldn’t. I wouldn’t and I just need you to tell me… it’s like you’ve said to me before – its better to know a horrible truth than live in doubt. I just want to be able to help sweetheart…please just tell me, what happened?”       

Newt _had_ said that to him before. He remembered doing so and understood better that Percival had a point now – telling him the truth was what he deserved even if it hurt him. Newt had betrayed him, and he deserved to know that – he deserved to know why he was better off without Newt. For when the time came that Newt had the courage to leave.

He forced his gaze upwards, slowly up the arm to the shoulder, the neck and face until he met the older man’s eyes head on with every ounce of his concentration – forcing the colours into cohesion. “Exactly w-what was always g-going to happen. I g-gave into him. I was weak and I didn’t do anything to stop it. I didn’t stop it. I-I _b-begged_ for it...” His voice cracked here, gaze flickering back into coloured blurs, sight filling with memories of sweat slicked flesh, searing pain and overwhelming lust, feeling a whimper escape his lips before he swallowed his pathetic self-pity down. “I broke the barriers. Broke the wards. _Again_ , and it wasn’t by mistake. I did it because I was selfish and stupid and… lonely. I messed up and I don’t see any reason why you should think otherwise.” Newt swallowed again, feeling like he was speaking through broken glass in his abused throat, spilling the words as quickly, honestly and brutally as he could. Percival _needed_ to understand. “I let this happen. Part of me wanted it and just like all my other decisions I was just serving myself because I was a bloody coward. I’m sorry…”

Percival’s expression was difficult to put a description to and Newt felt an odd twisting feeling encompassing his insides, that little spark of kindling dwindling with each far too tense moment that passed in utter silence. Newt curled further into himself, feeling Pickett grip tighter into his hair at the movement, little worried chirrups released that Newt couldn’t answer, waiting for a response but also hoping at the same time that he wouldn’t receive one. He was trembling still, hadn’t really noticed until then but could feel the cold of the cell and his damp hair mixing with his pained, drained state to seep the warmth from his limbs. He found his lips moving of their own accord, muttering the same words of confession over and over again under his breath as if it would somehow make up for his mistake, his failure and his deplorable nature.

Percival didn’t move for the longest time and Newt’s voice gave out even as his lips continued to form the words, muttering silently into his arms as he pressed himself into a smaller ball. Not worthy of the space or notice of anyone or anything. Percival’s hand fell from his shoulder at some point, he didn’t really notice when but was glad that the Auror had seen the truth – that Newt had betrayed him and that he wasn’t worth the effort that had been expended upon him. All he did was make others’ lives more difficult and he deserved everything that had been done to him – that he had allowed and invited to happen. Gellert was right and Newt was a fool for not having realised it sooner. He used to know so much better – that people weren’t with whom he belonged. People were only a cause of difficulty and pain interspersed with brief, all-too-tempting moments of happiness to entice him into the despair again. He was better sticking with his own ilk – with creatures who were easier to predict and care for. That he could look out for and heal at his own pace without the guilt eating away at him. He needed to get away from people and spend time with those who couldn’t fully understand that he was more of a monster than they could ever be. Creatures that could understand the necessity of survival and the things that something could be willing to endure to continue. Or not.       

He looked up again after some time to see that Percival had stood, was standing by the door and that the low murmur of conversing voices was permeating the room, the American’s tones contrasting with softer, equally familiar tenors. The hatch in the door was open but Newt couldn’t see through it from his position on the floor and before he could, the hatch was closed again. A few seconds later, Percival opened the door and left again. As the metal formed a separating barrier between them again Newt suddenly noticed that he wasn’t alone – aside from Pickett who was clambering through his hair still, Newt was now able to focus the shifting shades of the room into focus enough to identify the red and gold blur. It was the Phoenix.

He was perched just across the room from him, intelligent onyx eyes regarding him sadly though with some distain too and Newt found himself smiling just a little – relieved that those around him were finally realising the truth of his situation and nature. It didn’t stop the Phoenix from approaching him though, he hobbled closer with the light clicking of talons on stone, wings furled away neatly behind him at his back, creating a beautiful blend of colour. The shades blending in his blurred vision to create an illusion of flaring flames. It was entrancing and oddly soothing to stare directly into the coals, sparks and flames of living fire – the spirit of warmth and life. Rebirth incarnate. The proof that things that were once dead could once again find life. Newt was troubled and soothed by the thought – that death might not be the escape he thought for all creatures but at the same time could start something anew. That things could be reforged in fire – the broken, bent and damaged could find new purpose. Or repeat an old one.

Maybe he could do the same.        

If only the flame within him wasn’t constantly being drowned out by the drips of icy despair that were leaking through with no sign of stopping – only releasing the pain drop by drop. The Phoenix came closer then, eyes haughty yet still mournful and Newt reached out a trembling hand towards him. Seconds later soft, smooth and very warm feathers were sliding under his touch as the Phoenix almost nuzzled into his hand, beak lightly nipping at the skin. Small sparks of silver came at the contact, but Newt didn’t find that he minded as instead of the horribly shameful reflection and intensification of emotions that he had experienced before, there was instead an echo of soft concern and bolstering hope. It was odd though. He hadn’t ever gotten a reflection of another’s emotions with the bond except for Albus and Gellert, so for a few seconds he eyed the bird with suspicion. It certainly didn’t feel like either of them though there was still a trace of something familiar and after a while Newt relaxed back into his cautiously apathetic state, gently running trembling fingers along the Phoenix’s primary feathers and feeling calmer as he did so.

Eventually the Phoenix seemed to grow impatient with being treated as a common domestic bird and nipped a bit more forcefully at Newt’s outstretched fingers, cawing at him reproachfully and Newt grinned a little, ruefully. “Sorry there friend, getting a bit rusty with my manners.” The answering caw was something so close to the bird equivalent of a huff that Newt felt the grin crack his split lips a little wider and he withdrew his chastised hand back to rest it softly in his lap, curling the other loosely about his knees. He looked back at the bird speculatively, the colours shifting before him again, blending and swirling in sparkling brands of darkness and flame. Looking at the world might actually be better like this, Newt thought absently. Prettier and vaguer but with an enhanced degree of the truer nature of things. “I don’t suppose you already have a name, do you?” He mused aloud and the Phoenix merely looked back at him, Newt found that talking to him was easier than staying in the lifeless silence or treading soft, guilty steps about Percival.

“I’m surprised you came looking for me. Don’t know one another that well after all. Did Percy bring you here? Wonder how he ever managed to convince you…” Newt trailed off thoughtfully, colour and simple surface thoughts overriding everything else in a pleasantly superficial way – like seaweed floating on gentle waves, dipping under every now and again only to be rocked back up before they sank fully. “I hope they’ve been treating you alright. Good people – Bunty, Percy, Tina, Thee… all of them really. I hope that you haven’t eaten any of the others either yet…you haven’t have you?” He fixed the Phoenix with an oddly focussed eye and he offered a half-hearted cry in return, tilting one wing out almost as if to shrug and Newt nodded approvingly at the resigned acquiescence.

He rambled on like this for some time, asking of the world outside the room that had become his prison and home for the past three months, talking of fond memories of the creatures that dwelt there and deliberately avoiding the thoughts that lay beneath the surface. The Phoenix was a surprisingly good listener and conversationalist, cawing or tilting his head and wings in assent or dissent wherever he seemed to deem it necessary. Newt let the blur of his vision sharpen and lose focus as it came – enjoying both forms of colour but not really minding as long as everything remained quiet and vague around him. He wasn’t sure what exactly was making such a difference, but the Phoenix was sentient enough to understand most of what he said but animal enough for it to not matter all that much to him. He was humouring Newt, the magizoologist could tell but in his hazed state he couldn’t bring himself to much care.

When the spell was finally broken, Newt couldn’t tell how much time had passed but knew that it had likely been some stretch as his body was stiff and aching beyond what it had earlier – having avoided any movement so as not to awaken a much deeper agony. He started, flaring that agony when the door opened again and not one, but two men entered – both familiar, both fond but also unwanted. Newt wanted to remain alone – wile away the hours with nothing but his own quiet voice and the chirrups and calls of Pickett and the Phoenix to break the silence. But he knew that wasn’t really an option right now – he couldn’t fade silently away. He had to be rid of the bond for that to happen first and that was going to involve something far more painful than all of the silver being ripped from his skin and soul at once. Having to be around Gellert once more. Newt knew that he couldn’t handle that – especially not with both Albus and Percival present too. No, he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. So Newt curled deeper in on himself, pressing his back to the wall and burying his nails deep into his palms to distract himself, bare toes twisting into the mattress and Pickett squeaking worriedly in his ear at the sudden tremors that wracking his already quaking form.  

Everything blurred but he forced it back into painful focus for fear of losing track of what was happening as Albus approached him, crouching before him, expression indescribable and eyes far too painful to look at. It was like trying to look at the sun. Newt felt a hand brush the back of his own softly yet with firm purpose, felt his fingers being drawn away from where they had risen blood and he looked up at the elder with wild, hazed eyes. He felt everything he had expected within Albus through the contact and more – guilt, disgust, sadness, fear and most uncharacteristically alarming of all, an all-consuming simmering, apoplectic rage.

It was too much for his emptiness and he tried to pull back swiftly but was shocked when Albus didn’t let him and instead drew the younger man up to stand on shaky legs. Newt’s body followed shakily even as his mind reeled, allowing himself to be led to the door, breath coming out in sharp, harsh pants of panic. It was strange seeing this apparent lack of patience in Albus and Newt felt just shocked enough by it to allow the guidance out of the cell without thinking to question it. He felt no ill intent towards him from the continued contact between them – not that it meant much after seeing what Gellert had been capable of blocking – but he didn’t really care.

If he saw a glint of sharp silver at Albus’ waist then what did it really matter?

If the intention was to carve him apart then who was he to complain?          

 **A/N – SORRY. Now that’s out of the way I’ll just go on to say that I know the water metaphors and themes are perhaps excessive and repetitive, but you know what…? I like em. Lord knows why but it works as a visualisation for me personally so…yeah.**    

NOTE ALL READERS - a BIG thank you for all the fantastic support thus far and sticking with me to the last chapter coming up. Especially to my amazing fan who was provided fantastic artwork which I will upload to the fic when I can figure out how - you're amazing! 


	30. Chapter 30

**“…Maybe it's all that I've been through, I'd like to think it's how you lean on my shoulder and how I see myself with you.**

**I don't say a word, but still, you take my breath and steal the things I know, there you go, saving me from out of the cold.**

**Fire on fire would normally kill us but this much desire, together, we're winners they say that we're out of control and some say we're sinners but don't let them ruin our beautiful rhythms**

**'Cause when you unfold me and tell me you love me and look in my eye, you are perfection, my only direction, It's fire on fire…**

**…We lose our minds in a city of roses…” – ‘Fire on fire’ – Sam Smith**

Aside from the temptation to break Dumbledore’s nose that was painted clearly upon Percival’s face in the blur of the edge of his vision, the process of leaving the cell was not much call for notice in Newt’s hazy attention. He vaguely felt a heavier weight settle on his shoulders at some point up the stairs, warming him, as the going was slow and Newt’s chilled, trembling flesh seemed to bother both men. The smell of the garment told Newt that it belonged to Percival – likely his coat again – and whilst he appreciated the warmth that eased his stiff, pained muscles a little, he didn’t relish the guilt that came with the misplaced affection. The spirals and following corridors were just more blurred grey stone to him and though he forced his legs to follow Percival and Albus’ guiding hands, he let his body move in conjunction with his mind. Pickett was still there, he could feel that much, and focussed on the familiarity of the company, small fingers twining in his hair as he moved, stumbling up steps on ungainly feet and hearing the light click of talons on stone as the Phoenix too followed.     

It likely made for an odd procession to observe from anyone else’s view, but it didn’t really strike Newt that way, as in comparison to everything that went on around him as of late it didn’t even scratch the surface of unusual. He only came back to himself again in something even close to proper when he felt the wind and rain upon his face for the first time in months, breathing in the shock of cold air and the welcome pain of stinging icy sleet at his sore, spiteful skin. Newt ignored the troubled mutterings between the two men he was practically strung between and instead closed his eyes, focussing on the feel of the wind, the cold and the freedom that it represented, he opened them only when they began moving forward again. The cause of their concern became clear to Newt as his feet and legs were quickly submerged to midcalf in chilled, cloying mud that sucked upon his steps just as it did the others, the gale and poor weather haven risen the bogs over the path out. Newt didn’t much mind it but soon enough the path was being cleared aside anyway by both wizards working spells to push aside the waters to divide a path for them to cross. He was distantly relieved to see them acting in tandem despite the animosity that Percival held for the other.  

When they reached the end and the border of the estate, Newt had the temptation to look back at the house, realising that it was the first time he had seen the place from the outside and feeling mildly interested in the purpose that the grand house could serve in a bleak, inaccessible location like this. Though judging by the still heavy scent of wolfsbane in the cell that lingered now even upon him and the deep gouges in the walls, he could only guess that it was to further isolate the cell’s intended inhabitants under the guise of grander, more domestic purposes on the surface. He turned away just as Albus squeezed upon his left arm, giving a moment’s notice before they were sucked into the familiar crushing blackness of apparition. When they reapparated, Newt spent several moments gasping, attempting to blink the blurriness from his vision with little success as everything was suffused with blind colour again. His face stung more than ever, and he found himself pulling at the grip upon his arms to attempt to rub at the sudden burning sensation surrounding his eyes.       

“What the hell is-” The usually soothing American tone was low and cut itself off abruptly.

He could feel the hands upon his arm still, small fingers twined in his hair and he felt wholly intact even if he remained a touch numb through the burning, but his sight remained an all but useless blur. Newt thought he might have made a sound then, articulating his distress on a deeper, baser level and felt the grips tighten infinitesimally, one pulling him around to an unseen angle, another hand coming to rest upon the side of his face. Brushing the edges of his wide, empty eyes. He was confused, dizzy, scared in a literal blind panic despite the numbness, seeing an indecipherable blend of hues directly in front of him and heard a voice ring through the cloud of colour.

“Newt, calm down, take deep breaths. Tell me what you see.”

Newt swallowed, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest that he hadn’t entirely realised was moving in sharp, rapid movements until that moment, he replayed the soft sound of a familiar voice guiding him through to calm over and over until the movement slowed. He bobbed his head as the grip on his face patted ever so slightly - as if tapping him back to wakefulness and though the blurs didn’t lessen, he could feel the bond resonate with a projected, forced calm.  

“Well done, Newt, that’s it, now please tell me if you can see anything.”

Newt nodded again, throat bobbing furiously as the shades shifted again “C-colours. I- just colours. I can’t see anything clear… what-” He swallowed again apprehensively, not liking the lack of sight and the confusion. Those things that had been playing at the edges of his frayed mind began to creep in then – _hot, sweaty flesh, sweet, horrible words whispered against his ear and neck, a relentless pounding within him_ … he pushed it back as violently as he could and spat-stuttered out words, quiet and lost sounding. “W-why can’t I see?”

“I’m not entirely certain why, but the markings have reached your eyes and it seems to have caused this… well, blindness. I’m fairly sure that it won’t be permanent and I’m sorry but you’re just going to have to let us guide you. It’s going to be alright, Newt, I can’t promise that this will be painless, but I swear to you that you won’t have to endure what Grindelwald put you through ever again.”

Newt closed his eyes, briefly, pressing the useless things shut against the swirl of equally useless colour and focusing solely on the familiar grips on his arms and face. One was Albus he was sure, as the voice had been his and Newt could feel him close. The other was Percival - though the man remained silent Newt could smell him beyond the scent of the coat enveloping him and hear his quiet breathing. He could feel the cautious but clearly agitated twitching of his fingers about Newt’s forearm, rubbing soft circles through his shirt but nervous in the motions still – as if unsure of whether he should or not. It helped to ground him further. Even if a part of him was scared that this was all just another trick – an illusion bred to confuse and manipulate him into submission, but the voice spoke back against the fear with cold clarity that hardened Newt against the hysteria pushing at his defensive apathy.

 _You already did submit. What more is there left to break? What more left to give?_      

“Percival?” He ventured cautiously.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” The response was instant, and Newt found himself flinching at the warm address that he didn’t deserve, Percival must’ve felt it as his grip loosened a little, Newt focussed again on his breaths. _In and out. Just like that._ “I’ll be here the whole time, you’ll be alright.”

“No.” He felt a flinch and Newt’s voice turned smooth even if he felt as rough and numb as ever beneath. “D-don’t want you to see this.”

He felt Percival flinch against him again, grip tensing momentarily before loosening to only be holding on by the barest of fingertips. He knew that it would likely upset Percival to exclude him from this, but he also didn’t think that having him anywhere near either Gellert or Albus was a good idea. Let alone having him directly witness Newt’s suffering. It wasn’t fair on him and it would help both of them in the long term.   

“Newt-” Percival cut off at some signal that Newt couldn’t see so he could only remain where he was and guess that it was something that Albus was doing – perhaps pacifying him, Newt didn’t know but he remained silent, limbs trembling and lips pressed tight together. After an indiscernible amount of time, he heard Percival sigh and felt the grip tighten on his arm momentarily before it left entirely.

“Just- can you please just give us a damn minute?” The words were aimed at Albus who must have given his ascent as footsteps were heard before the sound of a door clicking closed came from nearby. A courtesy even if it was rendered ultimately redundant by the bond connection glowing and thrumming like wildfire between them from both men’s agitation – underlying or not. Newt felt familiar hands on him again, taking him gently and guiding him about, likely so that he could face Percival even if he couldn’t see him – the Auror likely wanted to gauge his expressions and all Newt could find within him was an uncomfortable tight feeling in his chest and throat that doubled as he heard Percival’s voice crack slightly before he spoke anew.

“I’m not going to make the mistake of asking again what happened as I’m damn sure I have a good idea of it.” Percival’s voice was low, urgent and veined with pain, grip thankfully not tightening even as his voice did, as Newt wasn’t sure how he would react if it did. “I can’t say how sorry I am for pushing you away like that and I want you to know that I never intended to hurt you or to send you back to him just when things were looking to come to an end… of sorts. But believe me, Newt, when I say that I don’t think of you any less for what he did or how you might’ve reacted, I was angry and stupid before and I didn’t mean to cast aspersions on your character because you were trying to make the best out a Mercy-awful situation. It’s part of what I love about you – that you keep on trying despite all the odds and I need you to promise me that you’ll _keep on_ fighting just a little bit longer. For me, for yourself and for everyone back in London who’s counting on you to stay strong and come back more or less in one piece.”

Percival’s hand moved down to cup Newt’s own hand softly, wrapping a thumb limply about his knuckles and stroking them in a heartbreakingly hopeful way that oozed through the warm touch even as Newt remained blind but for a vague grey blur before him. He swallowed past the sick feeling in his throat, releasing the tightness in his chest just a bit as he realised that it was the first breath he had taken since his partner started speaking.

“B-but… but I didn’t…” The admission came out almost like a soft plea, barely audible but for the silence of the room.

He could almost feel Percival frown as he asked, “What do you mean?”

Newt swallowed again, feeling immeasurably sick of his own voice, of the words that would hurt Percy just as much as they would free him. “I… I didn’t f-fight him… I l-let it happen…I stopped fighting him because I was scared… because I’m a coward and I believed… I just wanted to- _needed_ to believe that I could carry on after like it hadn’t happened at all… that he would let it go…that I could lie to you… I was stupid too – more so… but I let it happen… part of me… w-wanted it… you were right. Part of me wants him…I stopped fighting it and I deserve everything that happens to me now... I’m just sorry that you had to be caught up in it like this… tangled like flies in a web…his web…mine… wasn’t meant to happen… I’m so sorry…” His voice broke off into silent, voice cracked mumbles, inaudible even to himself as his lips didn’t stop moving. Hoping and praying beyond belief that Percival would do the sensible thing and understand…whilst also guiltily hoping that he would see past Newt’s betrayal and love him anyway even if it would only be worse for both of them.    

The magizoologist desperately found himself wishing that he could see Percival’s face, that he could gauge his reaction past the heavy presence of silence between them that hung like Dragon smoke; hot and suffocating. There was silence for a while longer, long enough for Newt to decide that withdrawing might be the best idea here, advance into the next stage of his justly deserved punishment. The only problem with that was that he couldn't see to leave and the only thing grounding him in the here and now - giving him direction – was Percival’s warm, too right, too tight, grip on his hand.

“Newt…I know that now is likely not the best time for this discussion but it also may well be the last if your professor’s track record of failures is anything to go by and I’m not risking you going away from me again with the wrong idea about how I feel about you.”

“B-but- but you shouldn’t-” Newt began but was cut off by a firm finger to his lips that had them closing quickly, leaning away from the sensation, even as light as it was, it still hurt his cracked, sensitive skin and reminded him too much of a _different_ kind of pressure on them. _Fingers pushing past his lips to repeatedly wet them as they pushed inside him… over and over…_ He felt warm breath ghost over his face as Percival leant closer, his forehead coming to rest against Newt’s and he did his best to control his racing heart all over again, breathing in deeply and smelling nothing but Percival. It helped to calm him even as a metallic edge of blood in his scent enticed Newt back to less calm places.  

“I don’t care what I should or shouldn’t do or feel, I trust you, Newt, just as you trusted me to keep you safe, but I won’t let you down now. If you feel that you truly have anything to make up to me through your actions – bad or not – then repay me by holding on for just a little longer.” His breath was coming in warm, rapid puffs against Newt’s burning cheek. “Can you do that for me? Please?”  

Newt felt the suffocating sensation overwhelm him at the closeness – too much, too soon and he tore himself away, staggering back blindly on aching legs, body flaring with unpleasant sensations as he stumbled and nearly fell, only saved by Percival’s careful grip and the nearby wall. He heard Percival take in several deep, seemingly steadying breaths before he heard a half-humoured exhale of breath that sounded almost feverish.  

“I’m sorry...just- don’t do anything stupid will you…please?” He only half-sounded like he was joking.

Newt’s lips cracked and dribbled blood down his chin in thin damp lines as he smiled slightly. “Can’t promise…but I’ll try.”

He heard another disbelieving, slightly hysterical huff of laughing breath before a grip brushed down the side of his face and he fought not to flinch away from it again. Trying to give Percival one last moment of familiarity for them before he tore himself away from all this. He felt a brief, fierce press of lips upon his forehead before the grip was gone and suddenly Albus’ presence was back again, softly asking for his permission before he gently but firmly guided him away across what felt like wooden floorboards. Bare feet pressing softly against the wood. Cool but smooth and pleasantly worn – conjuring up the image of a warm, rustic room even if he couldn’t confirm the peaceful imagining with his primary sense.  

Newt hadn’t heard him approach but then again, his senses were at best hazy whenever Percival was involved and even more so after recent events as he was led away. They were inside, he could tell that much and swallowed down his trepidation as the blur of colours shifted from lighter brown warmth to dimmer, cooler greys and blacks. The warm, peaceful image dimming a little with it. He stumbled slightly on the even surface simply due to his fear of misstepping but Albus’ hand kept him steady and he felt a dip in the floorboards and heard the click of the door shut behind them. He was tempted to ask where exactly they were, but he supposed that it didn’t really matter, he wasn’t at a point where he cared or would do much with the information even should he have it.

It was all going to end one way or another, so what did it really matter where as long as it did?

Newt could feel the fury and multitude of complex emotions simmering in the man beside him even as his breathing remained even and his steps sure and firm, clicking slightly against the floor, but Newt could still feel it and he found himself equal parts glad and curious that he couldn’t see the other man’s face right now. It was an alarmingly intense thing to be experiencing after the blankness from Percival. It was almost an affront to the blankness. The whole feel of the elder was a bubbling, roiling, conflicted mess and it rather unnerved Newt to witness the strongest man he knew reduced to this by something he had been involved in – something he had done and shamefully enjoyed. It wasn’t fair, what he’d done – not on anyone and Newt had to focus hard on keeping every part of him in careful place in order to stop himself from shaking apart. Or at least that’s what it felt like to him.

Eventually, they stopped, not that they had travelled far he didn’t think, more that they had been taking the shorter distance at a slow pace so as to accommodate for Newt’s newfound disability. Not to mention the deep aches that resided with him at every movement. He could feel the silver burgeoning the edges of his eyes if he tried hard enough, the same way he could feel the rest of the lines in his tender body but he actively tried not to – instead focussing in upon the blankness at the edge of his perception and before the next. He felt himself being lowered, sitting on something firm, but soft, like a cushion on a more formal chair, though he could feel no back to it and he hovered awkwardly upon the edge of the seat, knees trembling before him and hands rested in his lap once his arm was released. Fingers began playing absently with one another, one hand tracing the markings with blunt nails whilst the other fingered the bruises abrasions about his wrist.

The traces of pain they flared helped to distract him from the imminent and the already passed.

He could sense hesitance from the other, Dumbledore clearly not wanting to leave Newt alone in his dazzlingly dark blur of nothingness, unsure of how to proceed under the circumstances. Newt let out a shaky breath an again forced a fracture of a smile to his lips even as his gaze remained sightless on the colours before him. “It’s alright. Do what you need to.”

“Will you stop-” the voice cut off just as quickly as it came, harsh and quietly furious sounding and Newt flinched just a little, allowing his smile to drop and offered an apologetic grimace instead that felt more appropriate and genuine given the nature of the situation. “I’m sorry, Newt, I did not mean to speak so harshly. Despite what Grindelwald would want you to believe, this is not your fault. I know that’s hard for you to hear and that you would be more inclined to believe that you are solely to blame for what happened but that would be just what Gellert would want. He works everything to his advantage and purposes and I’m sorry that I let this go on so long. I know that none of the apologies I have made can make a difference to what has been done or what you have endured but it is all that I can offer in the face of what is to come.” Newt got a sense of hesitancy then, bleeding through ashamedly, accenting the words with pain. “I would have wished that you could have carried on your life and bettered Gellert in the process. That this could’ve benefitted his character and changed his path, but I was selfish and naive to assume that I could rest this burden upon your shoulders as I have. By the time I realised that this connection was only making things worse for both of you, you were far too ensnared for there to ever be a simple solution.”

Newt felt a hand rest upon his shoulder again, warm and slightly desperate even through the shrouding protection of Percival’s coat and Newt didn’t dare venture more than a tight pressing of his lips and a brief, sharp nod. He heard the voice thicken then, with anger or tears he wasn’t sure, but he could feel equal amounts of grief and rage beneath the surface. Albus continued then, a bit softer and almost to himself but the thoughts within him mirroring the purpose that it was indeed meant to be heard. “And it was working too, in its own way…but it wasn’t worth the cost to you, Newt, I’m sorry that I didn’t see his use of you or the true lengths he was willing to go to. I just couldn’t stop hoping; hoping that he would come around and that despite all his fanatical and misguided prattle, he would find the truth as I once did. I think that what he feels for you may well be real, but it still isn’t enough I fear… its best to end this now.” He sighed and Newt heard the shifting of steps before him again. “I’ll admit that a little of me still holds onto the petty jealousy I coveted in my youth, though I’m not sure how much it may have guided my actions. Whatever the case may be, I still owe you more apology than I can ever truly express.”

Newt swallowed thickly around his abused throat, the fiddling of his hands in his lap growing ever more agitated beneath his notice until then and Albus’ hand brushed the side of his face. Newt wasn’t sure how to react, unsure of whether the touch made him uncomfortable or not and he shifted a bit but forcibly stilled his hands even as he shivered still. He knew it was just an attempt at comfort and knew that there was no reason to react poorly to it as Albus was not Percival – he had been wronged too yes, but the betrayal was of a different kind. And he certainly wasn’t Gellert either. Newt pressed his eyes shut again to block out the distracting blur of meaningless colour and resisted the urge to itch at the corner of his eyes where the damage was likely still taking place.  

“I just-… I just need this to-… to _end_. I don’t care how it happens but I really-… I need to get out of this. I’m sorry that I couldn't-… for any of you but I don’t-... I c-can’t…”

“It’s alright, Newt, if that’s what you truly want then I will help you with it, but please consider this carefully. There are people and creatures whose lives will be irreparably damaged at your loss and as much as I understand your suffering – trust me, I _do_ \- I want you to think on it just a little longer. Give yourself time to recover once the bond is removed before you decide upon something that cannot be undone. That is all I ask.”            

Newt considered this for some time, feeling the warm, dry grip upon his face move a little as the skin between them clammed up and eventually, the young magizoologist nodded softly into the grip. “Alright.” The reply was simple but seemed to be enough to convey the acceptance as Albus’ grip tightened ever so slightly before leaving altogether. He saw the sense in the request even if he didn’t feel that time would do much more for his decision other than to stagnate it and solidify his sorrow further. But Albus was one of the few people in this world whom he trusted the judgment and advice of even after everything that had happened.      

“Thank you, Newt.” There was another long, drawn-out sigh then and he heard Albus shift once more on his feet, moving slightly further away by the sounds of it. “Now I know this is going to be difficult and if there were any other decisions I could make, believe me, I would, but Gellert needs to be present for the bond’s removal. I promise that I will only allow him to be as involved as he must be but afterwards…” He paused here, tenser in his silence than he had ever been before. “Afterwards I’m afraid that I must hold to my end of our bargain and release him, but of course I will still hold to my promise to you as well. He will hold me to the purpose of his…visitation requests but they shall be exactly that – requests. I will act as an intermediary and should you wish at any point to discontinue his…visits I shall intervene. It has been agreed.”

Newt felt his heart flutter and hammer against his chest, breath picking up and throat going unbearably dry, but he forced the words out, nonetheless. “H-how do you know he’ll keep his word? What exactly are you planning to do about him?”    

“You needn’t concern yourself with the details, Newt, but I swear that I will continue to work against his darker impulses. The resistance to his course on my part, however, must be delayed, but again I regret to say that those details must remain between myself and Gellert.” 

Newt was tempted to ask, to delve deeper into the matter but honestly didn’t think that he would receive an answer even if he wasn’t afraid of asking – if Dumbledore said he couldn’t tell Newt something at this point then he likely had a good reason for doing so. He nodded mutely, eyes tight closed and relishing a little in the encompassing heat and odd comfort of the darkness – like the sensation of being tucked entirely under blankets, head and all. Warm, dark and slightly suffocating but hazy in the space before being truly awake.

“What-… what exactly will this involve? Removing the marks, I mean.”

Dumbledore seemed a little more prepared to answer this and it was rather gratifying even to his numb state to know that there was some solid direction to his immediate fate. “I’m going to bring Grindelwald here. I’m afraid that he has to be present and his magic released in order for this to stand a chance of working as I hope it will. As I said, I promise that I will limit his involvement to the barest necessity. I will attempt to remove the presence of the bond from you with a blade forged with the blood of both Gellert and myself, it will be painful but I will attempt to mute the sensation as much as I am able according to the bond’s limitations.” His voice was strained but forcibly smooth, even if it was in a deeper pitch than it usually might’ve been. “Should this prove…successful, I will then guide the presence back to myself and Gellert from you which will require me entering your mind. Again, I shall try to be as careful and non-invasive as possible, though at this point such precautions may seem a tad redundant.”    

“I suppose it would, but I appreciate the… thought.” Newt said, trying to be kind even as his chest felt like it was being crushed in a tight vice, feeling the ghosting traces of touches along the silver-glass markings at the mere thought of being near a version of Gellert that was no longer trapped in any way. Even Albus’ presence wasn’t enough to abate his fear. The only reason he was considering this to be acceptable was because…well, what more could Gellert do to him that he hadn’t already? Or that he didn’t deserve in full for all that he’d done? There was a small part of him that argued against it that sounded suspiciously like Percival’s low, soothing tones. And there was another that was in the more familiar form of the loud whispering voice that told him Gellert wouldn’t hurt him any more than was necessary, not for this at least – that was oddly ringing true to his ears but in his state of confusion he wasn’t sure what stance to grip onto so instead let them all go in a flood in simplistic apathy again. 

“Is there anything else I can do to make this any…easier for you? Anything that you want?” Dumbledore’s tone was hesitant and pained - as if he knew how futile the question really was even as he asked it and Newt let another ghost of a smirk slide across his cracked, blood tainted lips.

“The last year of my life gone?”

There was a sound that resembled something choking and Newt flinched before he let the smile slide away again into blank grimness, blind in his emptiness. He felt Albus’ hand briefly touch his arm before the footsteps retreated again and Newt felt a fleeting pulse through the bond as he bid a silent farewell for that moment. He was going to collect Gellert no doubt, and as much as Newt was fearful of that arrival, he took solace in the little time to collect himself before this all began…and ended. He focussed deep upon his breath, controlling the near-constant tremor that ran through his limbs and trying to put up a much stronger front than he was feeling capable of – the insides hollow while the outside remained blank yet hopefully strong.

It was really hard to tell just sitting there alone and blind, motionless in a presumably empty room, not really having any idea where he was. But the tugging hands in his hair, tiny and spiky as they were, reminded him that he wasn’t really alone and felt a surge of gratefulness to Pickett and also to Percival for being the one to bring him to Newt. It was painful to think of the kind, knowing gestures that Percival had made when he was about to push the man away for good – for both of their goods really and he took a few moments to contact solely with Pickett without any thoughts of what was to come. The quiet squeaks were familiar and comforting, Pickett not really knowing what was wrong but sensing that Newt was not as he should be in that clever way of his. The young magizoologist spared a thought to the Phoenix, wondering where he was now, looking about at the haze of dull colour about him but not spotting and crimson or gold. He wondered if he was with Percival; Newt hoped that was the case and that the two might somehow offer some comfort to each other even if the Phoenix didn’t seem all that keen on the Auror as he was.    

Newt felt it when both men returned, sometime later and try as he might, he couldn’t stop the shivers from returning even if he managed to keep his breathing at a more even pace. There was a part of him, the part connected to where his nails were dug hard into the silver marking his wrist, that could see from both other men’s perspectives. He could see himself, sitting alone in the centre of a room on a backless chair, a large wooden table to one side of him with a set of magical and mundane instruments set across it. Amongst the ranks of the neatly ordered objects, he could spy a metal dish, several needles, a large wax-sealed container full of what looked to be blood, several jars of herbs and a substance that looked to be of a paste consistency. Most notably set aside however was the gleam of sharp silver that Newt had spotted earlier attached to Albus’ waist; a short slightly curved blade with a thick crimson cannelure running along its length.  

He forced himself to let go of his grip, for as much as he found a little reassurance in being able to see his situation that bit clearer, he couldn’t stand much more of the overwhelming emotions flooding through both men. It was easier to remain his blank self. He had felt the same from Albus as before in the cell but Gellert’s emotions were more complex than he was willing to experience fully. There had been satisfaction – great, cloying waves of self-gratification, that familiar, disturbing fondness, a touch of anger and also traces of reminiscence towards the man standing beside him. But there had also been physical pain; a deep aching, sharp pain within his right side that resembled that of being sliced open and bled. It didn’t seem quite right, so Newt put it out of his mind for then, not willing to show any such care to the man who had reduced him to this and made him realise that he deserved every moment of it

“Hello again, Liebling.” The voice was nauseatingly warm, but Newt didn’t make any effort to answer either verbally or with any averted eye contact as they were purposefully pressed tight shut. He felt a ripple of something trim along the bond between them, odd, light and not entirely content but again, he ignored it as best he could.

He heard a quiet, harsh noise of admonishment from Albus and a low chuckle in response but simply focussed instead upon sitting upright and not curling in on himself as his lesser instincts wanted him to. Newt’s lips were trembling slightly, traces of memory of them being spread wide and stretched sore pushing at his senses even as he pressed them as tight together as they would go. He felt Albus extending a small tendril of calm reassurance towards him, warm, soft, though a little coarse as it was forced under the circumstances, a little frayed at the edges but strong seeming, nonetheless. Newt grasped onto it with a tentative grip but felt just a little steadier because of it.   

Gellert’s voice again then, low and clearly condescending even despite Albus’ warning it seemed. “Your Percival not joining us?”

“Gellert.” The reprimand was sharp and cutting as glass and he heard a step, click firmly on the floor nearby. “You agreed.”   

“Just making an observation, Albus.” Came the smooth reply. “I would have thought he would have insisted upon continuing to interfere with things in which he does not belong.”

There was a sharp _thwunging_ sound and suddenly Gellert was silent again. Newt didn’t venture his senses into the bond to try to discover what that had been but just found himself grateful for the reprieve. The young magizoologist found a hand upon his own briefly, flinching momentarily before he realised that it was Albus’ worn, warm skin and not Gellert’s cool grip and ducked his head silently in affirmation to the unspoken question. The grip was removed, and he heard the clink of metal and glass as Albus presumably went about the motions of preparing whatever ritual was necessary for the bond’s removal. He felt no sort of apprehension at the thought, more just sort of dull anticipation that didn’t quite pierce through the film of ennui other than to leave him trembling still. He couldn’t seem to stop the trembling and instead clasped his tremoring hands tight in his lap, feet planted solidly on the ground before him.

“You know what needs to be done.” Albus spoke after a while, pausing in his movements by the sound of it and he heard a light sigh before more steps followed Albus’ over to the table beside Newt. The younger man jolted as he felt a hand briefly brush over his knee in a possessive gesture as Gellert passed him, he scrunched his eyes closed tighter than ever and focussed on the process of breathing again. _In and out. Just like that._ The words seemed oddly tainted now and Newt found his breathing picking up even as he attempted to sink back into the torpor. He allowed himself the slight comfort in the realisation that both men seemed more absorbed now in their tasks than him, at least for the moment, and tried to let that slow his racing heart to the point where his chest didn’t feel like it was about to collapse under the pressure. Memories of hot, cold, sweaty, bloody skin meeting over and over penetrated his mind as he himself had been and try as he might, the sounds and sensations kept playing along the markings, the ghosts of past touches burning him even as the touch itself had been indefinably cold.     

He wasn’t sure how long it went on like that but when it stopped it was to a warm, firm touch at his wrist that had him jerking back violently and almost toppling from the chair in his perturbed state. The hand steadied him and he heard a low curse, oddly sounding like Albus’ usually dulcet tones, the tendril of calm was extended again but this time Newt was sure it wasn’t enough; wasn’t right to rely upon a false sense of quiet that wasn’t a realistic expectation of what was to come. As much as he would like to feel that way, he knew that he didn’t have any right to do so after all that he’d done and what had happened. He felt if offered twice more with more insistency each time, burgeoning on urgency and each time he pushed it away harder until eventually he apparently pushed too hard because he entered the other’s consciousness in a blind white-silver flash. His eyes remained useless and his senses remained dull, but he left them behind for precious seconds as he saw everything from Albus’ perspective – horrible, startling, overwhelming clarity that hurt to look at for too long. Newt could see the world, the room and the three residing in it as glowing strands of potential and purpose; similar to how Gellert’s skewed perspective often felt though less tainted with the malice and depravity of the truly damned.   

He could see himself as a solid, bright light, traced with lines of fondness, regret, grief, the vaguest hints of disappointment and jealousy buried under mounds of guilt. He could see envy – oddly enough not just the expected shameful envy of being the subject of Gellert’s affections but an envy of a sure spirit. Something indefinable that kept on fighting and finding ways not to fight in order to bring about right and care. Newt was shocked through his detachment and apathy to see such an impression and let even more guilt eat at his already chewed up insides to think of what he was letting go in himself. He felt bad for letting go of and burying something that someone as eternally patient and brilliant as Albus found _envious_ – it was laughable but there was still no mistaking what he found in the depths of the other man’s consciousness.

Newt drew back abruptly, even before Albus could expel him and found that his cheeks were damp again, useless eyes smarting and leaking so much that he felt the blankness burn away a little more. He felt shame and mortification, pressing shaking hands up to his weeping eyes, not making a sound past his panting, strained breaths. It was like the barrier had been broken apart by the brief excursion into another’s self, but it didn’t leave him quite as desolate or wrecked as he had expected. The brief, intense impression had been enough to give him enough pure perspective upon himself to distract a little from what other danger hovered so close to him.

The blurs before his eyes as he opened them were incomprehensible as ever, but the colours clued him a little into who was standing where – Gellert’s blur of black and white to the left and Albus’ star of blue to the right. Not before him but to an angle and around a larger, darker shape that he assumed to be the table he had seen through them earlier. Both working but stilled in their movements it seemed for that second that he tried to focus on them again.

“Newt? Liebling?” It was Gellert’s voice again and the darker coloured blur moved closer only to be stopped by the blue one as it moved in front of it between them. He heard a hiss, though from which he honestly couldn’t say but he flinched nonetheless, legs pushing back off the floor and scooping himself up, pressing his knees back into his chest in an irrepressible desire to be as small as he could be in Grindelwald’s presence. So far gone from the young man who had once sought to never seem weaker in Gellert’s presence than he needed to that he felt more needles of shame stab at him. Where did all the fight go? _The same place as his sanity, dignity and sense of morality – to Gellert._

His insides and body were flaring with the aches all new, fresh and an unneeded reminder of exactly what he was being overwhelmed by. He felt more than heard his voice as his will to remain silent towards Gellert snap like his limbs had so many times before. “Stay the _hell_ away from me.”   

“Calm down, sweetness, this will all pass soon enough and-”  

“ _No_.” Newt ground out, astoundingly firm even as his throat grated the words and his frame shook. “I’m willing to do this just to get away from you but I’m not going to support your delusion that I feel the same as you do. It’s not true, Gellert and it never will be. Not after what you did. Now _stay away_.”     

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Newt, not until you’re released from this and are in a surer state of mind to be making such decisions.”

Newt bristled, feeling anger and indignation surge within him like bile at the audacity of Gellert to say such things after all that he had done; after he was the one to put Newt in such an unstable state. He heard a step, a slight thudding of mismatched steps and the blurs moved a little further away, the blue intermingling with the black-white blur again as Albus presumably moved Gellert back away from where Newt was bent upon his seat. He heard the low hiss of Albus’ voice sounding furious, more so then he had ever heard from the man before and shivered more violently at the venom that lay within.

“We agreed, Gellert, have some damn decency and stick to your word or I swear to you that I’ll spend the next decade of our bargain ensuring that you suffer just as you’ve made others do.”

“Come now, old friend, we both know that you aren’t capable of-”

“On the contrary, _old friend_ , you know exactly what I’m _capable_ of doing and you’ve consistently given me ample reason to do so. You know just as well as I do that I hold just as much ability to make you regret your actions as you do mine and after everything, after all these years, I feel no reluctance to do exactly that.”            

There was a long pause and even though Newt was purposefully separating himself from the bond link as much as he was able, he could feel the judging, furious, gauging tension simmering between the two men. Gellert was predictably the one to break the silence as he sighed, slowly letting the breath out through his nose and teeth like a submission. “Very well, Albus, have it your way but as our bargain still stands, Newt owes me the consideration of his company after this is over. There is nothing that can be done to change that unless you wish to risk the ramifications of breaking our agreement.”  

“I am aware.” The response was short and clipped, the sound of slightly clattering metal following as well as the sound of pouring liquid before the blue blur moved in front of Newt once more. “Newt, I need you to drink this, it will help with the pain, it will need a few minutes to work so please drink it all.”

Newt swallowed, throat feeling tight and dry as he felt the metal rim of a bowl being pressed to his lips before he awkwardly took it from Albus’ grip and took over pouring the bitter concoction into his mouth. It didn’t taste much worse than any other potion he’d had the occasion to sample over his lifetime but the newly found association of consuming bitter-tasting substances under duress made a tight knot form in his roiling stomach. He pressed his lips together tight again, lowering the bowl in a slack grip, feeling it being taken from his loose hands as he fought to calm his disquiet stomach and senses. He felt a new kind of numbness descend upon him slowly after that, his pain ebbing away in a cool tide that left him floating along in it and he suspected that the draft wasn’t only meant to abate pain but also calm his frayed, fractured nerves.

He could’ve felt irritated about that, he supposed, if the potion wasn’t already doing its work to quiet him and instead, he felt his limbs lessen in their trembling, uncurling to rest back down upon the floor. Newt felt a reassuring grip tighten upon his shoulder briefly and didn’t find himself feeling the need to react much to it all, simply allowing the motion to pass unnoticed, instead relishing the new numbness. The grip moved down to his hand – his left one he thought – and pulled it up to rest upon the table which had been rotated to be placed in front of him, his clammy palm pressed flat against the surface. The wood grain felt smooth and cool against his skin and he decided to focus upon that instead of the movement and contact around him as it was steady and a little reassuring.

“Pass me the- yes, thank you.”

There was a clatter of metal and glass on wood, the light thump of footsteps on floorboards and the vague blur of shifting colours about him once more.

“Newt, just try to relax for me, this may feel strange and will likely hurt, but I need you to keep still.”

He found himself nodding and a few moments later there was the touch of cool steel upon the end of his index finger, where the lines of silver-glass began on the left-hand side and the sharp edge dug in under the metal. Newt’s instinctual reaction was to jerk his hand away from the strange, digging, burrowing, violating sensation as his very blood seemed to revolt against the intrusion, bubbling and burning beneath the surface. His struggles were rendered useless as an unseen, inescapable force held the limb down flat, the digging blade continuing in its movements, the pain that he should no doubt be feeling in his skin numbed away but the soul-deep and blood-bound agony flaring strongly. Silver light flared hot and bright through the colourful, blind fog and he heard a low curse even as nothing stopped.   

He could feel the blade moving as an instrument in Albus’ hand as well as his own flesh even if the pain was numbed. It felt wrong in an indefinable way and the little whispering voice in his head was suddenly shrieking at him with deafening concern. Had he been able, Newt would’ve brought his hands up to press over his ears and eyes in a vain attempt to block it all out but as it was, he was forced to sit as he was, palms flat to the table as the silver-glass was drawn inexorably from him. It felt too, as if a part of him were being ripped away, the emptiness filling and expanding horribly in confusing, crushing spirals.

There was a pause, an indefinable amount of time later – could’ve been minutes or hours before Newt found that the blade had been removed, somewhere about his thumb and he realised that somewhere within the haze, the process had apparently been successful. His left hand was free of the silver-glass that had resided there for so long. His hand felt oddly, horribly, wonderfully light and hollow – like it could blow away without the presence of something that had weighed more than he had ever cared to notice. He dared for a moment to accept the proffered tendril of calm and sight from Albus then, seeing himself, pale, slightly flushed around his temples, rigidly slumped over the table and hand clear of silver. The appendage was glistening with a thin coating of blood of course – though considerably thinner than it certainly should’ve been, all that remained in its place was thin pink lines instead of the deep gouges he had felt being made. There was a thickish green paste applied about too, being absorbed surprisingly quickly by the hungry seeming skin.

Gellert was there too, of course, standing off to the side with a conflicted expression upon his pale, painful-to-look-at face – seemingly caught between deep interest, surprise, consternation and what seemed to be anger. Newt found himself distantly shocked to see a deep stain of fresh blood upon his open-collared white shirt, blooming dark through his stomach area to one side. It looked fairly fresh though if the dark wizard felt anything of it, he didn’t give voice to or expression to it other than a slight tightness in his rigid posture. Newt’s attention being directed by Albus’ as it was, he was pulled then to turn about away from Gellert quite deliberately then, feeling a sense of shame, though not guilt, wash about him. The alarming realisation that Albus had likely been the one to cause the damage to Gellert came as a blank, hollow though very slightly satisfying sensation even if it also only intensified his pity for his older friend. Newt retracted himself gingerly back into himself of his own accord, preferring the sightlessness somewhat more than the awareness as it only gave his numb, overloaded system that bit much more to cope with when it really wasn’t prepared for that.  

There was pain tingling at the edges of his senses, pushing and clawing to be let in and Newt found himself letting it happen as it helped to sharpen everything a little – make the guilt seem that much less to feel as he received his just penance for all he’d done. It stung – nowhere as much as it should but enough to keep the edge of the deeper aches within him that made it nearly impossible to accept that the one responsible for them was standing so close and unbound. The current pain and the voice’s presence in his head came as a proper punishment – the latter screaming at him, telling him in no uncertain terms that what was happening was _wrong_. It was telling him that it hurt more than leaving the marks alone ever could – that he was killing something within him by allowing this to happen. He ignored it as best he could, despite feeling hot tears of agony pressing at the backs of his sightless eyes in the wake of the immense pressure within his skull that built by the minute as Albus went back to his ministrations soon after examining the marks left.

He started at the wrist, pressing deep into the spirals and carving and as the pain helped to awaken Newt a little from his self-induced, self-preserving stupor he began to cling onto the traces of emotion that bled through from Albus. The man was suffering. Not just emotionally from what Gellert had done or Newt’s suffering but from his current actions – he hated having to do this. Despite the pain being dulled and it being a saving necessity for Newt’s sake, Albus hated himself for every second of damage that he was being forced to inflict upon Newt. It wasn’t just that though, Newt soon realised – it was real, physical pain too. The young magizoologist sensed Albus’ intentions before he could tear away from the knowledge – he was spreading the pain out to all of them – physically and mentally. Whatever the potion had been, had been drunk by all three men to connect their bodies and minds in order to make it more bearable for just the one. The thin, pale lines of pink raised flesh were working their way across all three men the further Albus went.

He was tempted to protest then, his concern for the implications cutting through the apathy further before he realised that no matter what he argued, it was likely something Albus had already realised and accepted on his own. And as far as Grindelwald went…Newt didn’t care anymore… he had already been invaded, used and violated in every way he feared and in many that he hadn’t even known to fear until he met the dark wizard. He trusted that whatever Dumbledore was doing wouldn’t make things worse between them – that Newt could finally escape without fear of being trapped between them forever.

That he could have the mercy of a death of his own volition.

Albus was somewhere about his left shoulder now, making surprisingly quick work, presumably with the aid of some sort of magic to quicken the process even as the pain continued to be shared and numbed between the three. It was only once he reached the junction of his throat and collarbone that Albus seemed to falter in his truly admirable steadiness, unsure of which way to proceed as his blade ghosted lightly over the edge of flesh above and below the line of Newt’s prominent collarbone. His breath came in quiet, through clenched teeth sounding pants, grip shaking ever so slightly against Newt’s skin, the blade heated with the prolonged contact with flesh, magic and blood. Newt didn’t know how to advise him to continue, focussing instead upon keeping himself equally stable and relatively calm underneath the onslaught of peculiar sensations, multiple consciousnesses, strange, tingling pains and repressed traumatic memories rising just below the surface like dead lizards in a bog.

The cuts began again, less sure this time, more shaky, almost clumsy as they skated up his collarbone, along the base of his neck and Newt couldn’t control a hiss or flinch backwards in a quiet, instinctive need to avoid the danger even as a part of him also egged him on to lean into the sharp contact. The only thing that prevented that was the thought of leaving his death directly in Dumbledore’s hands – it would just be another thing to unjustly pile upon his heavy conscience. Almost as if sensing his tempting thoughts – and he likely was – Newt felt more magic move to surround him, holding him still and steady against the pressure of the blade even as the user’s hand shook as it continued its work.  

It slipped again somewhere near his laryngeal prominence and paused. Newt heard sharp, shaky intakes and exhales of breath, the blade moving away from direct contact and felt the tendrils of calm retract as Albus could no longer put up the façade. Newt felt his own patience slipping in place with the other’s, feeling a heaviness to his limbs and sharp pain in his skin, a burning in his blood still paling in contrast to the loudness of the voice pounding within his skull. He was aware of the sweet-sour juniper scent in the room – close – too close.

Far too close.

Too much.

Too soon.

He could feel the other’s breath, the coldness of his aura and the warmth of unjustly satisfying flesh _so close_ …

The coolness came closer, he could hear the thump of heavy booted steps pushing aside another, felt it as all three separate entities as Gellert pushed Albus hand aside from where it hovered, inches and unsure by Newt’s flesh. It wasn’t a violent motion – more anxious or impatient perhaps as Gellert calmly but firmly placed his grip about the handle of the knife, tugging it from the other’s grip, wrapping around the other’s fingers in a burst of nostalgic, painfully familiar warmth for both even as it left uncertain traces for each of a different kind. Albus refused to relent for frozen moments, looking at the joined limbs as Gellert continued to try to retrieve the blade, unsure but not entirely opposed.

“We both know I’ve always had the steadier hands, Albus, just let me do it.” His voice was soft, surprisingly patient even in its underlying harshness and dare Newt think, a tad fond? The words demanding yet pleading and Newt felt Albus’ mind spark again with something old, new and conflicting, the physical contact tingling between them in the moment alongside the genuine burst of emotion. Newt felt pity rise in him as he recognised one of the conflicting sensations within his mentor as being the barest trace of bitterness – perhaps even something as shameful as jealousy as he realised that Albus envied Newt again that tiniest bit. Envied him for having been the one to prompt such affection and even humanity from Gellert when he himself had never seen such a drastic change. A little of it perhaps but too little, too soon. It was then that Newt could understand why Albus had held out so long in the hope of changing Grindelwald for the better – for as deplorable as his actions had been, there was also something different that had been triggered – so very different from what Albus had ever experienced from the man even in sweetest of his moments. It just wasn’t the same.

Albus secretly, shamefully envied the sheer amount of devotion – demented and unwanted as it may be – that Gellert was showing Newt. It stunned the young magizoologist to see the effect that Gellert’s potent combinations of affection and abuse could have on someone even as strong in integrity and intellectually impressive as Albus. In that moment he felt just that little less guilty for the realisation that for every conciliating word Albus had spoken to him on the matter if Newt’s own culpability in what happened between him and Grindelwald… he had not been merely offering blind placations. He was truly speaking from a place of moral ambiguity where he constantly questioned his own decisions and feelings just as much as Newt did – he didn’t deal in absolutes or simply lock his past and emotions behind a pane of glass. He felt the temptation and confusion – was affected by Gellert just as much as Newt was, even after the years of experience and time to adjust and gain perspective. Gellert truly was an inescapable force of manipulation.        

_Inescapable._

_Interesting choice of words, Newt – you know, you always did and what you’re doing now will tear us all apart._

_Don’t let them do it._

The voice had finally stopped shouting, resorting back to the insidious, intimate whisperings even as the stalemate between Albus and Gellert broke and the knife was released into the latter’s hands. Gellert was sure, steady as he ever was and as much as Newt’s flesh crawled and tingled under the steadying hand that was placed against his collarbone, angling his head carefully to allow for the knifework as Gellert sliced gracefully about the silver markings that curled around his throat. His voice was soft against the skin of Newt’s ear even as Newt could see him from Albus’ perspective, cautiously watching every motion closely, lips pursed slightly and hands moving in smooth motions about the macabre task. There was a haze of begrudging admiration filming the edges of Albus’ perspective at the arguably more skilful way in which Gellert approached the dangerous duty as Gellert’s naturally sadistic proficiencies both came into play and were laid aside as he performed with care and no excess of malicious intent.

“You always did see knifework as being beneath you didn’t you, Al? Always too base and violent – why use such crude instruments when you could just use magic? That was what you said wasn’t it? As much as you admire Muggle contraptions and profess to defend their detrimental evolution and industrialisation, you still prefer to dedicate your time to magic when the baser, ‘brutal’ methods can sometimes be the most effective available to you. There can be beauty and purpose in destruction. You know this, but you choose to ignore it as you simply fear what you can’t control. Like any man, you see something that proves problematic to your delicate sensibilities and dubious state of morality and you flinch away from it – causing more problems by your fear rather than doing what needs to be done.”

The words weren’t spoken as an obvious provocation. For once, Gellert was speaking casually, nostalgically and with traces of fondly acerbic scorn tainting the tone even as his hands never ceased in their smooth movements, his eyes never leaving his work as the knife retraced it’s path back from where Newt’s neck now lay bare, caressing the edges of the spirals brushing the mark of Deathly Hallows that still lay only partly untouched. The deep magic woven into it still having at least partially deterred the progress. The knife paused here, skating along the edges with warm silver sparks that tickled Newt’s skin and actually ignited a deeper pain than the rest of the blade’s work had. Newt writhed a little under the magic holding him again when Gellert’s free hand moved down his chest – vaguely noting that at some point his shirt and Percival’s coat had been removed and that in his numb, confused haze he hadn’t really registered it at all. The cool palm rested against his clammy skin, right over his heart as the knife continued digging and slicing slimly, he made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded like the whine of some undefinably injured beast, trying to find purchase with his feet with which to push away.

“Stay still, Liebling, wouldn’t want me to slip, now would we?” The tone was evidently meant to be more on the soothing side of sarcasm but Newt let out a slightly hysterical laugh that sounded closer to a squeak than true mirth and his thoughts revolved almost solely around exactly how much he _did_ want the blade to slip in that moment. For a quick stab to the heart or a prominent artery to take him away from here and him without the fear of being further trapped.   

“Newt, I’m sorry that I couldn’t-”

“He understands your inability, Albus, don’t force upon any of us the irritation of pretending that we aren’t all aware of one another. It’s not courtesy at this point – it’s a pointless feigning of ignorance.”

“I refuse to take advice on matters of courtesy from you of all people, Gellert. In case it escaped your attention, you are the only one in this room who is under the delusion that invading the mind and body of another can be mistaken for true affection. I swore that you could perform this task freely only so that Newt will no longer be subjected to you as he has been.”

“A rather futile effort on your part perhaps, don’t you think? The removal of the bond only comes as a necessity to preserve our dear Newt, under our agreement I still hold the right to indulge in the pleasure of his company.” Newt shivered violently, tugging upon the invisible bonds and feeling the pressure building both upon his skin and in his constricting chest, breath coming tight and short. The colours in front of his empty vision shifted and though the voice had finally quietened down a little to a gentle roar at the back of his mind, the throbbing in his skull had not abated quite so mercifully.

The blade was sliding over the markings around his pectoral muscles now, one long finger brushing a nipple as he pressed Newt back into the magic’s invisible grip, and he whimpered low and scared in his throat. Images, dark and cloying were invading his senses again, taking up his empty sight and filling it with the traces of what had already occurred so recently. His voice was trapped in his throat, frozen by his own weakness but both could sense his distress clear as day as Albus pulled Grindelwald’s hand away, clear in the resolve but not violently enough to dislodge the other hand that was still carving – creating scars on all three even as it cleared the worst of it from Newt’s. Newt fell then, stuck physically as steadfastly as ever but his mind dropped into the waters, dark, deep and roiling as they were. He was struggling, swimming just at the crest of the surface but repeatedly buffeted back down by each wave that consisted of all too familiar scents, sounds and touches invading his dwindling, overwhelmed senses.

Lifelines existed. He could see them through each lap of each wave, but they ducked and bobbed on the surface, dragging him under and back up again in confusing patterns that were almost more difficult than just letting himself go under. One buoy might hold Percival’s serious-smiling face and the warm, tender grip of his hand, stroking a thumb along Newt’s, but it would then be crushed by the wave that was Gellert’s twisted parody of that touch. Another might be the fonder memories of his younger years at Hogwarts which were then tainted by the misery of knowing that he could never go back there to complete his school years as most in the wizarding world had. His mother’s smiling face was ravaged and worn by illness and then death. His brother’s pompous satisfaction – as annoying as it was – signalling his content in a life marred by Newt’s uncertainty of how Theseus was going to or already had reacted to his newfound fatherhood. Tina’s soft smiles and wry humour blurred with that same uncertainty. Even his creatures’ fates were uncertain – if Newt died or found himself unable to care for them in his self-pitying, decrepit state, then could he really rely upon his friends to indefinitely care for them in his place?

He existed as a burden even as he helped to relieve others of their own in life and despite however much he wanted to believe that Albus’ assessment of his character was right, Newt couldn’t help but find it hard to imagine a future where he could ever bring anyone the happiness he thought that he had once brought creatures. He’d done nothing but bring misery and unneeded strain to poor Percival’s life even if, as he was beginning to realise, if only a little, that it wasn’t entirely his own fault. His resolution had been set before this began – he would leave. He would either end this all along with his life as soon as it was safe to do so, or he would spirit himself away to somewhere where he could no longer trouble those he cared about. Sure, Percival and his friends may find some distress in his absence, but it would be better in the long run for him to not be involved in the life of whatever niece or nephew that was born to his brother and friend. He would only be a corrupting influence and paint an unavoidable target upon the backs of all he cherished. If he had to continue his contact with Gellert, as the deal that had been struck seemed to indicate, he would rather have the privacy and isolation to collapse and decay further out of sight and mind of those who had lives to be getting on with while the potential for happiness or normality still existed.

Eventually, he felt a light prodding at the corner of his left eye, running along the edge of the silver-glass lines in such a sharp, distinctly noticeable and suddenly painful way that he jerked himself back into reality. The colours swirled violently and dizzying before him, jerking nausea to rise from his disquiet, leaden stomach to clog his throat and the voice started up its loud complaints again – shouting to be heard over the din of roaring water in his ears and mind. _HURTS. STOP IT! MAKE IT STOP! This is going to kill us all. Don’t let them do it._ The call sounded more like a wounded, frightened animal than anything the young magizoologist could ignore and he allows his sight to venture out to the others’, allowed his deep distress and the voice’s persistent mutter-yelling to invade the other’s minds too.

“What in Strigoi’s name was-” The sharp pain tore away abruptly and with it, a flash of dizzying colour exploded before Newt’s left eye – shifting and shimmering back into focus as the colours realigned and focussed into distinct semi-shapes. He saw the white-blonde hair and mismatched eyes flicker inches before him – Gellert perched upon the table, one hand bracing Newt’s face as the blade was held loosely, at ease, in the other as he regarded Newt bewilderedly. Though his depth perception was admittedly way off in that moment, Newt couldn’t stop either his strangled cry or the jerk back his body took, the silver on his right side burning through the restraining spells quickly as he brought the arm up to push Gellert away clumsily. The move looked and felt drunken in its blind flailing, but Newt couldn’t control his gut reaction to simply lash out and get the semi-focussed wizard away.

It succeeded in that Gellert’s hand was moved away from its contact with Newt’s face and was suddenly occupied with supporting himself as he tilted back on the table perch, skittering a jar and bowl across the wooden surface. Neither broke as they were saved by quick magic from either of the now visible wizards, but Newt was more preoccupied with the fact that his body was using its newfound freedom to back-peddle hastily over the edge of his seat. His abused lower regions hit the wooden floor of what appeared to be a wizard’s workroom, engraved neatly with runes and Sigils as it was and the agony that flared through Newt left him too breathless to cry out or voice his panic. He didn’t know why he was suddenly letting it get to him or why his sight returning had been what triggered his unexpectedly hypersensitive self-preservation instincts but all he could suddenly be able to focus upon was getting as much distance as he could between him and the man who would wish to do him further harm even if it wasn’t of the kind that a blade alone could cause.      

“It’s alright, Kleiner, it's working, you can see now, just set back down now and this will all be over in a matter of a few more hours.” Gellert’s voice stung like a vicious wind when combined with those mesmerising, distracting, memory-inciting eyes. He had slid down from the table, cuffs stained with crimson and rolled up to reveal his pale, tattooed forearm on one side and a deep red gash marring the new pink lines, shirt still torn on his belly and overall powerful demeanour not at all detracted from by the gore. He held the still dripping, red-veined knife loose at his side in his right hand while the left was clenched, knuckles strained and paler than ever under the pressure put upon them.

“Newt, have care.” The other voice was calm too, not stinging and he gladly turned his half-focussed attention to Albus who was clad in a deep blue, star-studded waistcoat and an almost equally blood-tinged collar and cuffs beneath, wand visible his side – though not the visage of Elder wand and rather his own. Newt uncurled his limbs, from where they had naturally turned inwards in a feeble attempt at fortification as he arranged his gangly legs back under him, standing and swaying heavily on the spot. He didn’t move back towards the table and chair, however, stepping back slightly, eyes flitting between the two men like a scared animal, feeling small fingers prod gently into the side of his head as Pickett clambered down to settle on his shoulder instead. Newt turned his gaze to where he could make out the tiny green creature, chirruping away and gently prodding at his chin with inquisitive fingers at where the silver had suddenly become absent. It made him wince a little as the thin raised lines were understandably tender and as his gaze flickered momentarily back to the other two, he was a little gratified to notice that neither seemed to feel the contact as he had. Gods forbid the bond remained in its physical state even after the silver was gone.  

“It’s okay Pick…I think…S’okay…they have to hurt me for me to get better…though I think you might want to find somewhere else to perch for a little bit if that’s alright?” He didn’t bother lowering his voice as much as he might’ve usually as he knew that in the quiet of the room and with the mental connection still so strong and raw, both men would hear it anyway. Pickett chirped an affirmation and Newt took a tentative step towards another table at the edge of the room by the door that he hadn’t noticed, gently placing the Bowtruckle down onto the surface with a gentle touch to the proffered twig-finger before he turned back to the humans in the room…much as it pained him.

“Dumbledore…is there any way you could continue?” Newt asked, voice tired in a way past mental and physical exhaustion and the voice in his head shrieked at him again, causing him to wince as it felt as though a hammer was pounding a hole through the side of his skull from all angles. It felt important somehow to distance himself from Dumbledore then, he wasn’t sure why but it seemed easier to keep the all-too-familiar at arm’s length in any way he could but at the same time, he still preferred the professor’s contact by far to that of Grindelwald. _Despite your earlier behaviour, it would seem._ He ventured no response to the voice and instead focussed his dwindling attentions on Dumbledore as he replied, looking mildly apprehensive and painfully careful about it.  

“Of course, I can try, I’ll take care of the areas where there lies less danger… if that is agreeable?”

Newt nodded and purposefully didn’t look at Gellert as he went to sit back down, stiffly, with a deeper pain than he ever wanted to think about flaring within him at the movement. Albus took the knife back in hand, seeming to avoid any lingering contact between himself and Grindelwald now but paused as he eyed where Newt sat and looked decidedly conflicted, prompting Newt to aim a questioning, tired look at him in turn.

“I think it might be…easier for the sake of your… safety for you to be on the table. I hate to ask this of you but-”

Newt cut him off by gritting his teeth firmly, manoeuvring himself back to his feet and pushing himself up with some difficulty to rest upon the table’s edge. As he was leaning back onto the surface however and he realised that the pressing, restricting force would likely be returning to keep him in place as they worked, he froze, arms shaking where they were being used to hold him upright. Images of being pinned one too many times, most notably and similarly by Grindelwald’s murdered fanatics – _murdered by your hands_ – flashed before his eyes. Not for the first time since he’d discovered the truth of Gellert’s possessions of course, but more vividly than ever before and now he could see and feel their blood dripping over his clenched white hands over the table’s edge. Fanatics or not, violent and sadistic or not – they didn’t deserve what had happened to them.

He felt hands on his shoulders, trying to gently guide him to lay back upon the surface and he went but the trembling didn’t stop, the blood continued to pour and drip and stain on his skin. He could see it everywhere, feeling it trickling from his every pore, from the beds of his nails, his eyes, his cheeks, his ears and from every wound – open or not – that had been inflicted upon him. And the ones that he couldn’t remember inflicting on others. He had fretted over the body count and the suffering that could well be on his conscience but had purposefully not dwelled upon excessively it in the face of the more immediate concerns being thrown at him day by day in his incarceration. In a way, Gellert’s attacks and violations – even up to the last, had been an almost welcome punishment and distraction from his sins, from the suffering he had caused on the wider world – not even mentioning those closest to him. Gellert being free after this, after the blade had finished clawing and carving through his flesh, after this ended, it would result in the continuation of Grindelwald’s fanatical, violent, manipulative crusade. By Dumbledore’s will and for the sake of Newt’s own safety. As before, during the assault and the confusing borders and _want_ and _wont,_ he began to slip back into lethargic acceptance of what was happening to him as he knew it was ultimately justified.      

How was it? He wondered as the blade continued its path along his other arm, tracing in a downward spiral along with his thoughts – that as a man who had repeatedly strived and claimed to not be one to choose sides, that he had found himself wedged quite so tightly between both. Not having decided anything, as he was tempted and pulled apart by both extremes in different ways, he had instead ended up causing more harm than he ever intended. Maybe he had bettered Gellert, maybe he had provided the wizard with a distraction and an alternative from evil alone, but it had also taken its toll on him. It had made him willing to consider things he never thought he would and allow choices to be made in a selfish, blindly survivalist effort, he had been distracted away from the one thing in his life that had always been his constant through thick and thin – his creatures. Percival was inexplicably sure and he loved him as much as he had ever considered loving anything or anyone but as the flaws of humans ran deep, there wasn’t a guarantee that he would always be there or that he would continue to care for Newt as the young magizoologist did for him. Especially when he discovered all that Newt had done – Gellert had lied when he said that Percival needn’t know about what Newt had done. It was a foolish, naïve delusion to ever think that he could or should keep it from him.

He wasn’t sure why he was quite so able to think so clearly through the pain that was now becoming quite prevalent in the fire that rushed through his blood and skin as the knife moved somewhere about his right forearm but as before, he decided that the agony was likely acting as a stimulant for his deadened, distant self. Maybe the potion had worn off. Maybe something had gone wrong with whatever magic was meant to be spreading the agony out between them. Maybe he was only noticing now that the voice was quieter in his head. Or maybe it was simply because the damage sustained to his body had become too great for his mind to ignore. Whatever it was, Newt was glad, as it distracted him from the burning pain deep within him and gave his mind little space to allow for hallucinations or reminiscences past a one-track thought.      

His skin was burning. Peeling away in pieces like dancing flakes of ash. But where had all the blood come from? Surely not from him? There was hardly any of the stuff spilt. Not from his flesh. Gellert's then? He was red, covered, almost dripping in it. Albus too now that he came to think about it. The floor was splattered, the table, the chair...even the little splodge of green that was Pickett was somehow red too.... what was happening? Where had all the blood come from?? Someone was hurt. He should warn them about it before they bled to death.

The spirals grew faster and tighter as he descended, slipping and sliding through the blood – the blood of others and himself. Lost all sense of time and where he was – of why he should try to stay aware as things blurred in a never-ending slide of red cascading down. He was aware of the voice still, warning him off accepting the pain and telling him to rebel against it with all he had as it was destroying something very important. The one thing that could be a constant should he let it be. He wasn’t sure if he should listen, but the thought seemed nice – even if he wasn’t sure what was happening that he should be stopping in the first place. Another voice joined the whispering one then, dark, sweet and familiar as it spoke firmly over the first from somewhere nearby.

“ _Let it be. Don’t force us out.”_  

“But, why?” Newt wondered, blood obscuring his vision and he felt otherness twang somewhere close – more than one other. The ‘us’, he supposed distantly.

“ _He makes a point, Albus, why should he accept any of this?_ ”

“ _Not helping, Gellert_.”

Newt found himself distantly amused at the realisation that his own thoughts seemed to be arguing with themselves – seemed rather odd for them to do so like this.

“ _I simply mean that as the bond is what we are aiming to dispel, he should reject all traces of either of us from himself. Isn’t that what your whole aim is to do here_?”

Newt couldn’t help but consider asking the voices to move their argument out of his head as none of it seemed to be helping anything at all.

“ _I know you would wish your influences to remain upon him but remember that it won’t make much of a lasting effect upon him should he die because you refuse to let go_.”

“ _His mind is unravelling faster than either of us can hold it together, Al, don’t you think it might not be best to simply quit while we are ahead as the saying goes? We’ve slowed the deterioration enough so that it might buy us some time to think of_ -”

“ _No, Gellert, we agreed. It goes. All of it. We agreed_.”

“ _Very well but don’t place the blame upon my shoulders when his mind snaps fully apart. Who knows what might be lost in the process?”_

“ _I see no one else who is as wholly responsible for that as you. Now. Do. It_.”

…

The last of the blood-haze dissipated in a violent blur of silver light that eclipsed all else for Newt for an indiscernible amount of time – not that he’d had much of a handle upon it up until them anyway that was. Newt jerked as if breaking the surface of the water for what felt like the umpteenth time in his life but still relished the sensation of filling his lungs with clear air rather than blood or water as much as any man would. Broken or not.

Two pairs of eyes hovered close above his – again, familiar. Blue, silver, blue, blue. Too much colour all of a sudden.

Black. Two pairs of back eyes, also close and much easier to look at even despite the swirls of crimson, gold and green surrounding them. Somehow. He fixed upon them until the memories and his sense began to slowly return with the pain of the blood, pain and silver. Memories were hard but welcome at the same time – even the ones that hurt as they made him painfully and thankfully aware of the emptiness where emptiness belonged.

The bond.

It was gone.      

That was one thing he could be sure of as the insidious voice and the crushing weight was gone. He hadn’t realised the weight until it was gone, and he breathed easy. For the first time in a year, he felt free. But the need to end that breath did not return. Albus had been right at least in his estimation that the bond’s removal might change his perspective upon that matter in particular. He felt the pain no less than before, the horror, self-loathing and the revulsion but it didn’t lend towards the suicidal as before as the pressure residing within him was gone…along with something else. Not just the bond, but something else that he thought seemed important. There was a hole in his memories, his heart, himself that he could feel itching at him. Like a wound that had finally scabbed closed but not quite dispelled all traces of the broken skin or sickness. The thing that was missing wasn’t obvious if he didn’t think about it but as Newt reassembled himself upon where he lay - on something soft and most certainly not where he had last been conscious of lying – he knew something wasn’t quite right. He looked back to the two human pairs of eyes then and the colours around them resolved into the forms of Albus and Gellert once more. Both blood-spattered and exhausted looking beyond all belief. He could feel the exhaustion too but not through the way of a magical connection but in his own drained, long tired body. The natural exhaustion of a year of torment and no proper rest.  

“Told you he was waking up.” Gellert spoke genially, looking worryingly pleased with himself, perched upon a nearby side table, legs dangling from it and arms crossed loosely over his chest, shirtsleeves rolled up and a cigarette hanging oddly from long, still blood-smeared fingers. Newt pushed his arms up beneath his aching body, struggling a little as shocks tremored through him but managed to prop himself up against the bedrail, nonetheless. Disconcertingly familiar circumstances aside, he felt better – hungry, thirsty, aching and exhausted. But better in an indefinable way. Albus was hovering, stood above the bed, exhaustion lining his face deeper than ever, blue eyes trimmed with shards of gold light that shimmered through the nearby half-shuttered window. The room was grey stone, wood floor gleaming and all doors and windows in sight open – Newt appreciated the attempt to make him feel less trapped in a building that was most clearly a part of Nurmengard castle. He guessed the location had been picked in case something went wrong with the removal of the bond so that no one might be hurt, as well as the proximity to where Gellert had been held. The man looked painfully smug, satisfied with his freedom – from the return of his magic, his autonomy and the apparent ability to smoke and dress as he desired once more. Newt, however, found no such satisfaction in it, flinching back, glancing down at himself and feeling immensely thankful to Albus for having the foresight to apparently collect some of Newt’s own nightclothes as he was dressed in his blue and white striped nightshirt, long enough to reach below the blanket tucked to his knees. Were Albus not there, Newt was quite sure that he would have bolted out of the open window – no matter which floor they were currently occupying.

As it was, however, he kept one wary, terrified eye on the dark wizard whilst aiming a beseeching gaze at the other erstwhile blood-bound man. “I-I suppose that as I’m alive… the bond is gone? I mean it feels as if it is but… what exactly happened? Everything went a tad… I’m sorry… it went _a lot_ fuzzy.” He offered a weak, rueful smile, brief against lips that smarted but at the same time, seemed to feel better than they had before. In fact, now that he thought of it, it seemed as though all of the aches and flares of pain from Gellert’s…assault had now dispelled. At least physically. One mercy.      

Dumbledore returned the expression, weak as a response as it was, concern clearly written in every line of his haggard appearance – contrasting greatly with Gellert’s utterly relaxed posture as he brought the cigarette up to his lips again. He held it in two ringed fingers, inhaling with satisfaction before breathing out a perfect ring of smoke, repeating the motion when he saw Newt’s attention had slid inadvertently over to him. Amused and offering a wink before blowing out another cloud that formed itself into the form of a Hungarian Horntail that swept a lap around the room on delicate ashy wings before dissipating and drifting out of the window. As much as Gellert’s presence and attentions disturbed Newt, he couldn’t help but be rather entranced by the smoke creature even after the lingering wafts of it had been blown out of the window by a flurry of crimson and gold feathers. The Phoenix came to land upon the windowsill, glaring haughtily out at the sky and almost amusingly, also at Gellert before he settled piercing onyx eyes on Newt again, ducking his head in a respectful movement, a slight incline of affection it seemed. Newt’s out-of-place amusement was further drawn out into a hoarse chuckle as he saw that the notoriously proud, un-domesticable bird had apparently picked up a passenger in the form of a tiny green stick figure that could only be Pickett if the nervous chirruping was anything to go by.   

He felt Albus’ hand on his then, drawing his wandering, slightly hazy attention back as the elder answered his previous ponderings. “Yes, Newt, it worked, not that it was a simple matter by any stretch of the imagination but what’s important is that it is no longer binding either you or the original intention of the blood-pact.”  

“Then what-” Albus cut off Newt’s question silently with a slight shake of his head and Newt recalled the man being evasive on the specifics of his bargain with Gellert before and supposed that the specifics were a part of that secret. He trusted his former teacher to have thought through the decision and in all honesty, Newt wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know what happened in the time that he was unaware. Or what their new deal was. Instead, he took a deep breath, blinking down slowly at his own clasped hands before venturing one of the other numerous queries that swirled about his brain. “How long was I… out?”

“Four days. I’m afraid that the removal had more of a drastic effect upon you than expected and it seemed best to let you catch up on a little of the rest you’ve been so long deprived of.” He shot a black look over his shoulder in Gellert’s direction at that who merely smirked, twirling the stub of the cigarette around in his grip before flicking it casually out of the window. The phoenix flapped an affronted wing at the foul-smelling object, and it vanished in a bout of flame that scorched too at Gellert’s tailcoat slightly – a clear warning and signal of distrust that had Newt almost laughing again. Maybe the Phoenix’ instincts weren’t too far off sense than he had thought.

He may not have forgotten anything that had happened between them but being free of the connection and the heavy silver presence – the potential of free thoughts and agency shining ahead in Newt’s future… well, it helped make the things in the past seem that little bit more easy to move away from. The promise of a way to move forward with no one else in his head or body was enough to alight that spark of hope for rebirth that the Phoenix’ presence earlier had kindled.

Still, though, there felt as if something was wrong. Missing.

“How’re you feeling, Liebling?” Newt flinched both at the direct address and at the soft tone, nodding minutely, silently in response before Albus repeated the question and he felt a little more of his usual cadence to answer.

“Tired still but… I can tell it’s gone…I feel sort of… light…he’s gone too so I suppose that answers that question…” The last part was more to himself but slipped out too as his gaze traced the thin white lines barely marring the skin of his exposed hands and wrist in his lap.

“I was meaning to ask about that…” Albus ventured, as if uncertain, brows creased. “This… voice…both Gellert and I heard it when… well, we heard it too and I was wondering as to how long you had been aware of it?”

“You heard it too?” Newt asked, astonished but then let his head dip again in contemplation as he thought of the voice’s earliest whispers. “It was… it was after Gellert…after he brought me back…” He raised his eyes up briefly, remorsefully, fearfully to meet Gellert’s now stern ones for just a brief moment before sending them back to his lap. “After he nearly killed me the first time around…”

“I know the moment of which you speak.” Albus’ response was clipped but soft nonetheless, glancing too back at Gellert and seeming deep in thought. The room was silent for some time before a low, loud grumble broke it and Newt flushed as he realised it had come from his own stomach. The hunger was gnawing at him strongly and with the bitter bile and distractions of impending doom gone, he couldn’t help but notice his body’s needs any longer. Thankfully Albus merely gave him a tight smile and straightened, sending a pointed look at Gellert who sighed and undraped himself from his perch like a fed-up feline in smooth, irritable movements.

“I imagine you must be famished and might appreciate a little time to yourself before taking any visitors, I’ll see about fixing you something before your brother and Percival follow through upon their threats of violence once more.” He smiled a little wryly as he seemingly unconsciously brushed his slightly askew nose and Newt nodded, though feeling confusion lacing his expression.

“I feel as if I’m going to spend all my time apologising for Thee’s behaviour towards you.” He laughed a little awkwardly before looking up with a bewildered frown marring his features. “Though I can’t see what your great uncle has to do with any of this? You gave me the impression some time ago that he was long dead.”

Albus too looked confused then and he released a weary chuckle “You remember correctly on that account, Newt, he is quite dead indeed. I was more referring to your Director Graves. It’s to be expected that you might be feeling a bit of disorientation after all you’ve been through.”

Newt frowned “Director Graves? You mean the head of the American Ministry security? Whatever happened while I was out that would’ve attracted MACUSA’S attention?” He sat up hastily, the room spinning a little too fast as he stood in his agitation as possible implications swirled about his perplexed head. “They haven’t taken my case, have they?” He glanced briefly over at the Phoenix and Pickett, glad at least, that they seemed to be safe for now from the notoriously harsh American standards upon magical law and creatures. The little he had heard from Theseus had been enough to scare him away from America until last year and he could only wonder as to how or why the DOMLE had both been reinstated after Gellert’s impersonation of him and why he would now want to see Newt. The only conclusion he could draw would be that he wanted to interview Newt over his creatures escaping the year before and that would never end well. Why wouldn’t Albus have warned him??

Albus looked suitably concerned then, brows knitted in consternation but also in confusion and that was what gave Newt pause – surely Albus would understand his concern for his creatures? Why was he looking at him as if he had just announced a profound desire to settle down at a nice desk job at the Ministry?    

“I’m quite sure that Mr Graves is the last person who would attempt to impound your case, Newt…. Can you please tell me exactly what you remember of the past year? Of Percival Graves?”

Newt frown deepened but he sensed the obvious harassment in the other’s tone so recounted his recollections as best he could. “This Graves man was the one that Gellert was impersonating in New York, correct?” He glanced between both men – one looking deeply concerned and the other looking continually smug.

“Yes, Liebling, can you recall anything else of the officious fool?”

Newt’s brow scrunched and he put a palm up to rub at his eyes as his temples began to pound oddly. Why were they pushing so hard over such insignificant memories? “Only a little of what Theseus told me of him, he’s Tina’s boss, yes? I remember Theseus saying that he’d been in contact with him on a professional level but… what’s so bloody important about him? You haven’t told anyone from MACUSA where my case is, have you?” The last part was levelled at Gellert along with an uncharacteristically harsh glare at the thought that the man had crossed that unspoken line and harmed his creatures. The dark wizard shook his head with a barely repressed smugness that left Newt further muddled. “Will someone please just tell me what I’m obviously missing here?”

When Albus spoke, it wasn’t to Newt but to Gellert as he turned upon him furiously, startling the young magizoologist to step back against the wall behind, closer to Phoenix, as his usually calm professor took his former lover by the collar and shoved him against the open door with a slam that belied his weary appearance. “Of all the petty, cruel, _selfish_ , deluded tricks, Gellert! Why?” He gritted his teeth further as the smirk never left the pinned man’s lips and Albus interrupted the opening of the other’s mouth before he could deliver what looked to be no doubt a mocking comment. “No! You don’t need to say it. I know exactly what damn fool reasoning you put this through! All you need to tell me is how it can be undone.”

Matching shards of ice pierced silver and sapphire as Gellert’s lips slid into a thin line, triumph gleaming there even as the mirth died away. “Even if it could. There is nothing in our bargain encouraging me to assist you in this and I myself am quite content to let it be. And look at him, Albus, does he not look more at ease without the added reminders and complications to his situation? He can get on with his life better now.”

Albus seemed to deflate then, his grip loosening slightly where it had bunched the other’s collar and Gellert surprised both other men by grasping the irate man’s hands briefly, squeezing softly and lowering them to his sides in a tender seeming motion. Albus looked conflicted and further drained as Gellert stepped back neatly out of the grip to the corridor, pausing to smirk briefly back at both, eyes lingering upon Newt and favouring him with another wink. “Remember that we still have our _dalliances_ to arrange but I’ll allow you some time to recover before we make any decisions. I’ll seek you out when you’re ready.”

With those thoroughly disturbingly warm words, Gellert spun upon the spot and disappeared in a crack of apparition, leaving a thoroughly confused magizoologist and a distraught looking Dumbledore. His posture was shattered, his face wan as he stared at the ground for several moments, eyes empty and hands clenched before he eventually turned to face Newt.  

“Albus, what’s going on?” His voice was quiet, soft and desperately confused.

“Gellert has…removed a large section of your memories…concerning one Percival Graves. It seems. A final revenge of sorts I would wager.”

“But I know who he is, I remember him, what’s so important about this man?”   

“From what you have told me that you remember, it is only a fraction of what had gone on between you and Mr Graves. Your memories don’t seem to be incorrect just largely incomplete.”

Newt frowned, sensing again the gap in himself and drawing up quick parallels between what Albus was telling him and the oddly empty feeling but still not quite understanding what it all meant. Dumbledore seemed hesitant as to how to proceed before he headed for the door again, holding up a hand to stop Newt when he attempted to follow, the younger man stopping short at the look on the elder’s face. “Wait here, please, just for a minute.”

He then hurried from the room, disappearing from Newt’s line of sight, leaving the magizoologist confused, worried and more tired than ever. He sank back down to sit on the mattress before thinking better of it, not wanting to seem weak and feeling restless energy flowing through his drained limbs, instead, he went to stand by the window again, greeting both Pickett and the Phoenix with sure, slightly shaking fingers. The crimson bird nipped gently at his hand, letting out a soft caw before looking out of the window at the dusky sky with obvious longing, Newt, too joined the creature in his yearning gaze, seeing the snow-capped mountains bathed in orange light and feeling the icy wind blowing a little more of the muddle from his head as he inhaled deeply. He closed his eyes, focussing on breathing in and out, gently trying to dispel his perplexed thoughts – not entirely understanding what was missing from himself but trusting Albus’ claims that the gap in his memories had to do with this Percival Graves. He wasn’t sure how or why the American Director of security had anything to do with his current situation if his creatures were not in any peril and both elder wizards had seemed sure of their reassurances that they were safe.

His mind was a tad muddled whenever he tried to focus it upon the subject of the man, but it didn’t feel manipulated in any obvious way, just more that there just weren’t any recollections to dredge up past Theseus’ and Tina’s occasional mentions of him in a professional sense. Never really made much of an impression past being the face that Grindelwald wore when Newt first met him – it wasn’t as if Newt had ever even truly met the real version. Instead, Newt focussed his thoughts upon his immediate plans for the future. The most overwhelming urge within him was as it often was – to protect and care for his creatures. But things had changed, not just because of the situation with Grindelwald and the looming prospect of forced visitation but also because Newt was no longer the same.

Prolonged exposure to trauma, abuse and a year of perplexing conflict had led to something shifting within him, he could feel it as heavy and leaden as the absence of the bond felt light; as if the realisation of the change had replaced the weight of others’ consciousness within him. As he reached out a hand to Pickett, his gaze skating fondly and gratefully over the familiar little figure, placing the Bowtruckle upon his shoulder as he had done a thousand times before, listening contentedly to the relieved sounding squeaks. Both of the creatures could sense the shift too; both the absence of the wrong magic and whatever else had occurred during his insentience, he could tell from the way that the Phoenix seemed to show that little more caution about him and Pickett’s concern seemed more elevated than he would’ve expected from the loyal creature. The Phoenix’s apparent respect seemed to stem more from that of a regard that one dangerous creature held to another and Newt wasn’t sure if he liked the change. He had always thought of himself as being closer to the people of wing, fur, scale and feather than the human variety but wasn’t sure if he would’ve ever labelled himself as a threat – a predator as he seemed to be now perceived as.

But then again, Phoenix’s were rarely wrong in their judgement of character. So that begged the question of what had shifted to make such a profound change in him?

He examined the markings left by the bond’s lengthy removal process with absent interest, thin white lines that were raised ropily upon his left hand more strongly but that turned paler, smoother and less noticeable as they traced the path they had originally made in reverse. The oldest scars more obvious and the skin feeling completely smooth once Newt traced those about his face and neck with careful fingers, feeling relieved beyond belief when no mirroring surges of another’s emotions flared at the touch. It felt good to be in control again. That was what he needed now, he realised – control over himself. Both to dispel the lingering effects and influences of others and to draw his mind into a future where this all might be moved past successfully.

Newt was only startled from his reverie, his slowly solidifying plans, by a light tap of knuckles upon wood behind him and he turned, expecting to see Albus but surprised to see that he wasn’t alone. In fact, Albus seemed to be making himself as much of a background presence as he could as he stayed back in the corridor, allowing a smartly dressed though rumpled-looking man to enter ahead of him. Dark hair, loosely dangling about his face and shaved about the sides, tie loose about his neck and long dark coat hanging a tad loose around his muscular-looking form too. Pale, sharp, handsome though stern features accented oddly by contrastingly warm mahogany eyes that pierced Newt below dark, imperious brows. Eyes that were, at that moment, unsure, eager, apologetic and furious all in a confusing jumble that made Newt feel distinctly uncomfortable. He shifted awkwardly upon his feet, glancing down self-consciously at his nightshirt and bare feet but feeling oddly reassured despite the gaze as he heard a stream of enthusiastic squeaks from the Bowtruckle on his shoulder at the man’s appearance. He was astonished that the usually shy creature seemed so keen on this stranger and it held a little more of Albus’ earlier words into clear light; clearly, Pickett had met this man before and likely so had he. Now if only he could remember more of this form and face than just having been a skin suit for Grindelwald’s crimes.  

He ventured a cautious gaze up to somewhere about the man’s jaw – distractingly strong and clear cut as it may be – and offered a small, awkward confused smile which the man returned brittlely until Newt spoke and it fractured like a frozen pond under the weight of an Erumpent. “You...you’re Director Graves I presume?”     

“I…am.” The words were stilted and sounded oddly painful coming from the other, eyes darkening as he glanced back at Dumbledore over his shoulder briefly and shot him a clearly pointed look that Newt didn’t quite understand. “I’m guessing that you don’t remember me?”

“You’re Tina’s boss, right?” Graves nodded shortly and there was a palpably awkward pause until Newt recalled that this man had been Grindelwald’s prisoner too and looking at him now, Newt could certainly tell that the Auror wasn’t entirely recovered if the pallor and dark circles surrounding his unnaturally gaunt-looking face were any indication. “Uh…how are you feeling? You don’t look at all well.”

He laughed and it was a brittle sound, dipping his head slightly in apparent affirmation. “Rather rich coming from you, sweet-…” His face crumpled and his lips curled as if tasting something bitter before amending “Mr Scamander.”   

“Please, call me Newt.” Newt corrected him on reflex, attempting to make the clearly uncomfortable man a bit more at ease from whatever wrong Newt had apparently done him – likely in the way he often did with people. Something about this man made him want to make him feel content even as it came as a spontaneous desire like nothing he had experienced before. Glancing back at his creature friends who had apparently gone under the Director’s notice, he looked back to the other with a slightly steelier note to his posture and tone. “I trust that you’re not here to confiscate my case…because that wouldn’t end well for either us, I’m afraid.”

Graves started, his brows rose sharply, and he shook his head emphatically. “No, no, of course not.”

Newt’s own brows crumpled back into confusion “So then… what are you doing here? I would’ve thought that Tina could tell you what happened in the business in New York and as much as I don’t wish to be rude, but this really isn’t the best time.” He glanced again over Graves’ shoulder at Albus who offered no explanation and merely continued to watch the proceedings with a deeply troubled expression, eyes far away even as he took in their words. One of his hands was unconsciously stroking the other, rubbing the side in a light, almost reverent grip.  

“I…just wanted to wish you well and ensure that you had…recovered properly.” The words seemed to come out all in a rush as he brushed his hair back from his face with a swift, ever so slightly shaking hand before he took several rapid steps towards Newt. He came within inches of contact, searching out something in his eyes and enveloping him in a wave of warm whiskey, citrus and pinewood scent that was marred by seemingly days of poor grooming. Newt flinched back, steps taking him hastily into the wall as his own eyes widened in alarm at the swift approach of this stranger. A look of hurt flashed across his face and he took a measured step backwards, Newt’s breaths were coming in rapidly again and he eyed Graves with confusion and bewilderment, hands clenched tight in soft, repeatedly reflexive motions at his sides.

“Sorry.” The response came out as a mumbled, distracted thing and Newt barely nodded in response, eying the other guardedly – he remembered the countenance of this man being worn by Grindelwald back in New York but otherwise, Graves was a complete stranger to him, yet here he was, eager seeming and oddly familiar in his behaviour. Looking as if his world had been pulled out from under him by Newt’s reaction and the young magizoologist had no idea why. Something steeled in Graves’ expression then and he looked up to meet Newt’s eyes again and the younger man allowed the contact only due to his perplexed state. “It was a pleasure to know you, Newt, now I’m afraid that I must be going.” He proffered a hand to shake briskly, seeming to be forcing himself through the formal movements and Newt was surprised again into grasping the hand and shaking in a minutely too-tight grip.

There was a moment then. A spark of odd ease when the Auror’s thumb brushed along the side of Newt’s… it sent a warm shiver through him and Graves’ eyes too sparked, looking at him hopefully before Newt shuddered again and withdrew hastily from the grip as if stung. He looked back to the ground quickly, staring down at his own bare feet, sensing the man step back in apparent disappointment. He was halfway towards the door before Newt let his inner impulse override his alarm and he glanced up, voice a little high as it cut through the miserable seeming silence from the other two men.

“Mr Graves!” He paused and looked back, eyes careful and almost as guarded as Newt felt but hopeful still. Newt blanched, rubbing his neck a little awkwardly, glancing about, anywhere but at those inexplicably distracting eyes. “I… I um…Pickett… Pickett – my B-bowtruckle…” He mumbled, indicating the small green figure on his shoulder quite unnecessarily as he did so. “He…um seems to know you…?” The words were left open and the older man gripped upon them as if grasping a proffered lifeline, Newt nodded, bobbing his head a little along with the Auror’s in affirmation. “I don’t suppose you’d happen to know why that is?”

“We…have met before…on a number of occasions.” Graves’ words seemed to be picked with incredible care as he glanced back at Dumbledore again with a touch of questioning scorn before looking back to Newt. “I wouldn’t want to force the memories forward by explaining the nature of our…involvement in full straight away as there is rather a lot to explain.” He huffed a slightly amused though strained breath before looking at him imploringly again.

Newt swallowed, watching the other through his lashes, feeling conflicting blank impressions of the man warring with an inexplicable urge to comfort the other again surge from nowhere. Where it came from after knowing this man’s face only to be a mask for Grindelwald and as being another officious hypocrite from the Ministry, he had no idea…. but there was something that made him want to find out. It was that belaying conflict that caused his mumbled, awkward response to tumble from his lips. “Well… if you felt any inclination to…um enlighten me, I find myself with an abundance of time after…recent events…if you thought you might have the time to…visit? I suppose that you’d be rather busy in New York as Tina often is but I um…uh-”

He was cut off as Graves sent him a soft, grateful, relieved, irredeemably fond seeming smile and spoke with the same emotions inflecting his words. “I would be glad to be allowed the honour of your company again, Newt. Not right away, of course, but once you’re feeling up to it, just jot me a line.” He glanced over his shoulder briefly again. “I’m sure that Tina would be able to give you my address. “I hope that some time might be able to stir some of your memories and if not I’m sure that I might be able to assist you in that.” The pain was present again as he raised his gaze. “Providing that you actually do wish for these memories to return?”

Newt frowned and he nodded a little dazedly “Well yes, I suppose it’d be best to know what I was missing rather than just… come up blank…it seems to be awfully important to the lot of you so…”

It was Graves’ turn to flinch and Newt took a step forward, uncertain as he felt the urge to apologise rise within him. “I’m terribly sorry about all this but I just don’t seem to be able to recall anything of you of any great significance. Ge-…Grindelwald certainly did a number on me in past so I wouldn’t put it past him to have done so again and I’m sorry that you seem to have been caught up in it all – you seem…like a nice bloke after all…”

Graves laughed again, hoarsely and smiled. “That’s not how I’m often described… what with being one of the _careerist hypocrites_ and all.” Newt flushed a little as he sensed he was being teased, if only a little and offered a shy smile of his own even as it was laced with his befuddlement at not having any memory of saying those words in front of this man. “You don’t need to apologise, none of this is your fault – it never was or will be.”

Slightly wrongfooted by the apparent depth of the meaning laced into those words, Newt merely ducked his head in a nod and turned his attention back to the Phoenix perched upon the windowsill, stroking a careful two fingers over his head and shivering a little at every gaze in the room being pinned upon him until he heard a weary sigh and the shuffle of retreating footsteps. As much as he wanted to learn more of what was apparently missing from his recollections – what Grindelwald had seemingly stolen from him – he still did not feel that he was in any position to be befriending Aurors or really interacting with humans much at all. All he could find himself wanting to do was to go home, collect his creatures together into his case and travel until he could no longer remember all that had occurred. Both what had happened in London and his own house but also in the company of humans in general. He felt that he had neglected his creatures for far too long and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he should really care what this stuffy, presumptuous American should think of him. He did though, that was the odd thing and instead of sparking up a need to comfort, in the other’s absence he now felt the need more than anything to wrest some control over himself. He needed time with his creatures – they were his priority and being around strangers or even his own rather overbearing friends and family would be too much.

Not even considering the future promised visits with Grindelwald. No, no, he would much rather sever all ties now, while he still could before he was descended upon by another flurry of protective well-wishers as he had been the last time he was recovering from the dark wizard’s influences. 

Newt cast his gaze about the room, noting his own clothing neatly folded over the edge of the bed and quickly moving to it, purposefully ignoring the aches that startled his indolent limbs and muscles as he slipped the material on. He fastened, buckled and buttoned quickly, fingers trembling slightly with the desire to leave before his intent was noticed and likely halted, Pickett once again chirping but this time in agreeance to his tactic. That was, of course, until Newt levered himself over to sit upon the windowsill beside the Phoenix, legs dangling over several hundred feet of freefall below. Pickett began chirping agitatedly and Newt soothed the creature with a gentle shush, a small smile at the shoulder-mounted Bowtruckle and murmured. “Not like that, Pick, just easier to avoid the wards and Albus this way.”

He looked down then, the empty space of open air that led to frozen ground obscured by white flurries, the grey stone of Nurmengard melding into that of the natural rock that the castle was hewn from someway down. Newt kept a careful grip on the window frame either side of him as he felt gingerly for his magic, it was weak, he would admit that; cowering as if bruised within in him but at his call, it came and he felt sure enough that he would have little trouble with his intended task. He felt the sure weight of his wand pressed against his thigh in his trouser pocket he knew it was there, tugging his old blue coat over his trembling shoulders and glancing once to his side at the ruby-gold bird who was regarding him with both muted scorn and a keen interest and he offered the Phoenix a smile too. Though whether to reassure himself or the bird, he was unsure. “Not all of us have wings you know but it doesn’t mean we don’t have the need to fly the cage too.”

And with that, Newt slid himself over the edge of the stone sill and revelled in the weightlessness and the sudden jolt of freefall, closing his eyes against the roaring wind and feeling the rush of wings follow alongside his wild descent. The air pressure beating at his body as his clothes flared out behind him and he angled himself to face his downward plummet, everything so inexplicably free and _right_ in the clear mountain air. 

At last unrestricted, Newt turned mid-air just before he met the cloudbank that obscured the icy ground further feet below, vanishing into the mist with the last whoop of air from his stinging lungs and accompanied too by the caw of an elated phoenix in shared flight.              

 **A/N - Well…. hi there? So sorry about the delays and all but well. It happened. Love to give thanks to the absolutely amazing reviewers who have supported me this far – especially to LongerThanTonight for the insanely amazing support and fanart! This is the end of part 2 if a trilogy so if you guys want to put up with more, then…it's coming whether you’re ready or not. Yay? I dunno.**  


	31. Chapter 31

Sorry folks, not a new chapter but instead a plea for help! I've got all the stuff down for the last instalment but am unsure on how to structure it as I have several ideas and was hoping any of you lovely chaps might throw some ideas or preferences my way? Plus any suggestions as to what to include that you want to see? I cant promise I'll include them all as obviously some ideas may not fit but I'll try my best. 

The ways I was planning to continue could vary greatly so ideas and suggestions much appreciated?  

Thank you very much for all of the feedback and ideas and I'll try my best to include them where possible! 

Would people prefer a linear narrative or flashbacks and filling in the blanks as we go?


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